Nocturnus
by In Dreams
Summary: When an underground power stirs in France and threatens the fragile post-war balance in England, Draco steps into a seat of power to which he is the heir by birthright, determined to protect his family. Intent on justice, Hermione volunteers for the role of his partner and adviser, neither of them aware of the ancient and twisted web of chaos they're about to walk into.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note: _**Welcome to Nocturnus! This story has been in the works for over a year now, and I'm thrilled to share it with you! I sincerely hope you enjoy. Nocturnus will see weekly updates for the time being, a pace which may increase once the story is completely written; as of the time of this posting, Nocturnus has 34 chapters written and is approximately one-half to two-thirds finished.

I've been fortunate to have a wonderful team along for the ride. Alpha love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and beta credits to ravenslight. Check them out!

**_Warnings: _**This story will contain the following: Violence; non-graphic depictions of war; character death; alcohol consumption; mature language and themes; and sexual content. Please consider this as your warning for the entirety of this story.

**_Disclaimer: _**This story is fan-created content. I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**_Part 1: Aedifacio_**

Chaos reigned. Nocking an arrow into his bow, Fletcher surveyed the scene in front of him with a cool stare. Fire crackled and roared, singing with the fury in his veins as they steadily advanced.

This wasn't what they wanted.

When his herd fled the forests of Hogwarts after the end of the wizards' war, they had hoped for a fresh start on the continent. After weeks of travelling, they'd found a new place to settle in the forests beyond Avignon in France. There they had subsisted in peace with the members of a small wizarding community for years.

But now…

It had been a week ago now that Fletcher's father had been taken.

A noble and intelligent centaur, Firenze had been their liaison with the human population of Avignon—the one who had ensured their continuing peace.

On the winds had come change, and centaurs weren't fond of change—especially not when it brought violence. Warmongering. The same as they had fled, years ago.

Their numbers had slowly dwindled since, the herd growing restless and wary. Many hadn't returned from supply runs—and after a meeting in town only the day before, three more had failed to make it back.

Including _Juniper_. The thought of losing her sent both terror and anguish racing through his veins with an insistent thrum—coupled with an endless rage that had only grown. Now to be unleashed like the flames from Fletcher's bow.

Vengeance for his father. For Juniper—the one to whom he had promised himself in the spring.

His sister Willow stood tall at his side, her expression dark even as she maintained a rigid elegance. They had work to do—and this was no time for emotions to get in the way.

A desperate cry tore from his throat as he released the shot.

At the snapping of flames and the sharp, staccato bursts of glass exploding, they charged.

* * *

_Murmurs, whispers, and shadows follow the group known only as Avance as the wizarding world turns its collective attention on France with shifty eyes and bated breath._

_Tensions are running high at the Ministry of Magic these days_—_Great Britain is only too aware of the horrors that were left behind just five years ago, and it'll be up to Minister Shacklebolt to decide whether to take a stand. Is Avance to be considered a viable threat?_

_Is the lingering sense of déjà vu growing? Are the aims of Avance all too familiar to those who remember the reign of terror of the late Lord Voldemort?_

_Or will Shacklebolt continue to lick his wounds and fix his internal focus on rebuilding a war-torn and ravaged Britain? Will the French Ministry, notorious for sitting on their hands, act before the situation becomes dire? Time will only tell._

_M. Humberscuff, special correspondent to _The Daily Prophet_._

Draco Malfoy folded his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and tucked it out of the way. He spread orange marmalade on a slice of rye toast—a breakfast staple—and took a bite.

The chattering of china on china drew his attention, his grey eyes flickering up; his mother had set down her teacup with a rattling clumsiness that was unlike her.

"Did you see this?" Draco nodded at the exposed front page headline—_Stirrings of a New Magical Order_.

Humming, Narcissa Malfoy agreed, bringing the teacup to her lips to take another sip. "I did."

Taking another bite of his toast, he dabbed at his mouth with a serviette. "And what did you think of it?"

Narcissa's gaze fell to the silk tablecloth as she laid her teacup to rest on its saucer again; Draco realized with a start that her hands were shaking. Her lips were pursed, her breaths unsteady, and she fixed Draco with a tight smile. "It's difficult to say, isn't it."

It wasn't an answer, and they both knew it. "Right."

Falling silent, his gaze darted across the words in the article again as he finished his toast and took a long sip of pumpkin juice. An elf cleared his empty plate, and Draco nodded with an absent, "Thanks, Podski."

Narcissa rose from her seat at the breakfast table, her hands clasped together. "I wouldn't let it bother you too much." With an unfamiliar tension in her gait, she left the room.

* * *

"What do you think of this?" Hermione Granger asked, her gaze lingering on a copy of _The Daily Prophet_, eyes swinging to her two best friends as an afterthought.

Harry shrugged, breaking a chip in half and dipping one end into his ketchup. "Sensationalism, to be honest. They've made it sound like Kings is just sitting on his hands and waiting for the baddies to go away—Robards is keeping a close eye on the situation, but as of now, there isn't much to report."

"Here's the thing," Ron interjected, waving his fork, a slice of seasoned chicken still pierced on its tines. Hermione grimaced and shifted in her seat. "These _Prophet _reporters have always tried to stir up a healthy dose of fear—ever since the end of the war—and with things being so quiet, they need to sell copies, don't they?"

He scarfed the bite of chicken from his fork, and Hermione turned to face Harry, swallowing back a remark.

"So Robards isn't worried?" she asked, a frown pulling her lips.

Something about the article had struck a nerve—the last thing Britain or the wizarding world as a whole needed was a new rising power deciding to take matters into their own hands.

"Robards is usually a lot of things, but that doesn't mean he tells everyone," Harry said with a flicker of his brows. "But he's competent, and he has more information about it than we do. If the Ministry needs to make a move, I'm sure he'll approach Kingsley about it."

Flipping the page, Hermione scanned the supplemental follow-up with a sigh. "Alright. I just don't care for the ideals this Avance seem to be spouting. It all sounds very Dumbledore-and-Grindelwald-esqe, you know, '_for the greater good'_."

"I know," Harry agreed, a heavy silence falling over them, broken only by the clattering of Ron's cutlery against his plate. "But trust me, I'm keeping as close an eye on the situation as anyone. If this group _is _some sort of Grindelwald contemporary, they'll be stopped before they can get off the ground."

Hermione gave him a grateful smile, taking a sip of her Butterbeer. "Thanks, Harry. I'm glad to hear that."

"Of course." Flashing a hint of a grin, he eyed her over his glasses, his green eyes astute as ever. "And how's work been?"

Huffing a laugh, she set her mug down. "Which job? The Department of Magical Creatures has been quiet—and as usual, Flourish and Blotts has been slow as well. Things will pick up closer to September with the rush of students, of course."

"Of course," Harry murmured in acquiescence, taking a sip from his own drink. "Everything's been a bit dull lately, hasn't it? Maybe we could use something interesting to focus on—if this group turns out to be trouble after all."

Ron snorted and dropped his fork to the plate with a jarring clang that caused Hermione to tense in her seat.

Forcing an absent smile, she mused, "Let's be careful what we wish for, hmm?"

* * *

_More than mere whispers and raised brows have been following the growing order in France known as Avance. The commander of this organization has yet to reveal himself_—_or herself_—_but one thing is for certain; Avance is keen on amassing power._

_In an unprecedented announcement two days ago, the French Minister for Magic Arcand declared his support for a new policy presented which screams of Avance influence._

_What does this mean for France? From the outside looking in, it appears as if Minister Arcand has had the proverbial wool pulled over his eyes. Drastic policy shifts, harsher laws around blood status and creature rights, all espoused by Avance, and all with the support of the Ministry._

_Just last week, a group of centaurs were seen firing flaming arrows into an apothecary in Avignon. Whispers have been heard regarding similar unrest amongst a pack of werewolves on the outskirts of Wizarding Marseille._

_And in England? It means sleepless nights, for those who still remember the last war._

_It means it may be time for our Ministry to step in, before it's too late._

_M. Humberscuff, special correspondent to _The Daily Prophet.

"I don't care for it," Draco snapped, his brows knit as he shook his head. For emphasis, he smacked the folded newspaper with the back of his hand. "We've been fighting for a return to normalcy ever since the end of the war, and now all of this. As if the wizarding world needs more supremacist nonsense—we learned that lesson the hard way, didn't we?"

"Of course we did," Narcissa answered, her tone placating and demure. "And despite your father's incarceration, we have restored much of the respect in the Malfoy name. Largely due to your efforts."

"Money." Waving a soft hand, his tone dropped. "Galas and charitable causes—but what purpose does any of that serve if these lunatics in France think they're doing the world some sort of favour? They'll be pushing another wizarding war at us, and so soon after the last."

"You'll show them the Malfoy name can't be swayed again." There was a glint in his mother's blue eyes with which he wasn't altogether familiar.

"But _how_?" Draco's eyes whirred across the article again. "We need to distance ourselves from this—_now_, before things grow any worse. Britain needs to move _against_ these people before it's too late."

"You and I both know the Ministry won't do anything," Narcissa said with a knowing hint of a smile. "And even if they try, the red tape of bureaucracy will prevent them from doing enough. This Avance group is sneaking beneath the law, and it will give them an edge the Ministry can't touch."

Shaking his head, bitterness etched onto his features. "I won't let my life become this again. _Your_ life. Not after how spectacularly fucked everything was last time."

The glint was back in her eyes.

"If you really mean to make a change, Draco, there is something you can do," Narcissa said, taking a passive sip of her tea. "A power in your _birthright_."

Draco froze, his eyes swivelling to his mother in wonder. It wasn't possible—was it? It had been generations since any Malfoy heir had activated that sort of power. There was a delicate smile on Narcissa's lips as she waited for the pieces to click.

Eyes brightening, his heart began to race in his chest.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he breathed, "_Nocturnus_."

* * *

Hermione ground her teeth as Harry paced the sitting room in Grimmauld Place. Ron sat across the room, staring blankly at a chess set, his eyes unmoving.

After a somber meal, the group of them had retired to the sitting room, but she couldn't shake the anxious nerves from cresting through her as they debated the hot topic of the week.

Cradling a cup of tea in her hands, Daphne perched on the seat beside Hermione.

"And meanwhile, Robards has been urging Kingsley to make a move," Harry said, waving a hand. "But the damn bureaucracy of it all has left them neutered. According to some ancient agreement between Britain and France, the British Ministry can't just waltz in and seize control without Arcand's permission."

"And Arcand's got a nasty bug whispering in his ear," Ron grumbled, giving up on the pretense of his solo chess match.

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, Harry gave a begrudging nod.

"Well, fine," Hermione huffed, "but what _can_ be done? Because they can't expect us to sit around and wait while they do nothing. At the rate things are escalating, this _Avance_ will be kicking Muggles and creatures from their homes by the end of the month!"

"There isn't anything yet," Harry responded with a grim look.

Daphne sighed, turning doleful green eyes on Hermione. "I hate that this is even a situation we have to deal with."

Hermione pressed her lips together, nodding. "As do I. As if we haven't all _seen_ exactly what comes of this sort of prejudice! Did France learn nothing from our experiences here?"

Folding his arms across his chest, Ron leaned back in his seat. "They claim it's different. This organization is helping in the cities—sounds like a load of corrupt bollocks if you ask me."

"Meanwhile centaurs are torching everything in sight," Hermione exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

"And with this new Malfoy development…" Harry added, sliding into the seat between Hermione and Daphne and slipping his arm around the shoulders of the latter.

Blinking, her nose wrinkled as she swept her gaze towards him. "Malfoy? What's he got to do with any of this?"

"Didn't you read the _Prophet_ this morning?" Daphne asked, leaning across Harry to face Hermione. "It was front page."

"No," Hermione said, distracted as she shook her head. "I left the flat before the paper had been delivered. What about it?"

Releasing a sigh, Daphne opened her mouth to explain when Ron interrupted.

"Seems Malfoy has chosen an inopportune time to flaunt his buried, archaic powers," he said, frowning. "A load of speculation, but no one knows why."

"Archaic powers." Shaking her head with a grimace, she said, "I don't follow."

Daphne rose and walked to the kitchen, returning with a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Hermione accepted the offering with a distracted smile, her gaze already dropping to scan the article.

It sounded like a lot of pureblood pomp, and left her more confused than before. "What's the Nocturnus Order? And how has Malfoy come to be in charge of it?"

With a sort of baffled shrug, Harry settled back against the couch again. Daphne exchanged a look with Ron.

"So basically," Daphne began, frowning, "The Nocturnus Order is this ancient magical order—thousands of years old, so far as I know, but it has been left dormant for generations. The last _leader _of the Order was a Malfoy—Draco's great-grandfather—" Daphne squinted for a moment in consideration. "_Septimus_ Malfoy."

The words made no sense, and Hermione frowned as the girl went on.

"Nocturnus was led by the Malfoy Dynasty for several centuries before Abraxas Malfoy ended up on a different path and never claimed his birthright, allowing Nocturnus to fall out of favour and into history." Daphne looked around at the three of them, and Hermione found herself swallowing thickly. "And… well, we know the story with regards to Lucius and Draco."

"So why now?" Harry asked, waving a hand. "What does Malfoy think he's going to achieve? And if he wanted to step into some sort of seat of power, why didn't he do it after the war? Why go to such lengths with the rebuilding efforts?"

It was common knowledge that Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had attempted to reintegrate into society after the end of the war and after Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to a life sentence in Azkaban. But Hermione had only ever seen it as a shady way to slip back into society and sweep their misdeeds beneath the proverbial rug.

Frowning, she shook her head. "Five years without the power and prestige they once had—maybe Malfoy's grown bored of mediocrity."

"All I know," Daphne said with a mild shrug, "is that the Nocturnus Order is serious business. If Draco's decided to ascend to the seat at the top, it'll be with reason."

The four of them fell silent; Hermione's head spun with more questions than she had received answers.


	2. Chapter 2

All of the antiquated history books in the library of Malfoy Manor couldn't have prepared Draco for the series of events that followed the announcement of his Ascension to Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order. Latin for Moon Rise, it had long been the title of the ruler of the Nocturnus Order—yet he hadn't learned why. There were trivialities about the Order that Draco hadn't found in all of his research.

Since he was a boy, Draco had been aware of the ancient bloodright that had flowed through Malfoy veins for centuries, but by the time he was old enough to consider such things, war had been upon him.

And from everything he had ever heard, Nocturnus was archaic. It had fallen out of favour, unable and unwilling to keep up with the advances of a rapidly changing society.

As he gazed out upon the endless carriages, active Portkey and Apparition spots, and parades of bannermen as they approached Malfoy Manor for the Ascension, Draco was struck with a stark realisation. Nocturnus was far more powerful than he had ever known.

Large white tents dotted the grounds, set up to accommodate their guests until the Ascension was complete, and most would return home, with a few key exceptions.

The Ascension was to occur at the height of the full moon—which had given Draco less than a week to prepare. He'd been spending the bulk of his time learning as much as possible.

The most significant information boiled down to a few main facts. Since a Malfoy was the last Lunae Ortus, the dynasty passed through the generations despite neither his grandfather or his father stepping into the seat. And Nocturnus had evidently gathered enough dust over the decades that none of the other old families had stepped forth to undertake the complicated process in claiming the head position themselves.

Which meant Draco's claim would be uncontested for the Ascension. It didn't mean the claim could _never_ be challenged—if the Order found his leadership wanting.

Draco would need to marry and complete a bonding ceremony. It had initially been a sticking point in the back of his mind, but a stipulation he was willing to follow through with if it meant that his rule of the Nocturnus Order would fulfill its maximum potential. The Lunae Ortus was only as strong as the symbiotic union with his Lunae Amor.

In all of his subsequent research on the topic, Draco had never heard of such a pure bond between two individuals. The strength and magical power of his bride would be tantamount to the success of his rule. She would learn to complete him, and he her.

The downside was that the bonding ceremony would take place exactly one lunar cycle after the Ascension—which gave Draco little more than a month to select a suitress to wed.

The idea of forced consummation with someone he hardly knew didn't sit well at all—but upon scouring the ancient texts, Draco learned consummation of the marriage was not required for the Lunae bonds to initiate. It had eased some of the stress, but not much.

Far be it from Draco to question the ideals that had been in practice in the Order for millennia.

But even so, the speed with which this was all happening left him feeling oddly disarmed. Draco had committed to this new role, and there was no backing out at this point anyway—but he was still learning as he went in a desperate attempt to keep up. But there were Nocturnus members who still remembered the rule of his late great-grandfather Septimus Malfoy rolling through the gates in droves.

The last thing Draco wanted to do was to fail in his new capacity.

He'd been introduced to one of the chief Nocturnus advisers the day before—a Swede by the name of Elias Bergen, a Nocturnus scholar and political strategist. His son Hugo was around Draco's age, and the young man had seemed distinctly displeased to be at Malfoy Manor.

He almost reminded Draco of himself, with the pomp and entitlement Draco might have possessed had he not lived through the humbling experience of fighting in a war as a teenager.

Several days prior, Draco had been startled to discover a throne room that had fallen into magical concealment with the collapse of the last Order and had reopened itself in the far wing of the Manor.

Draco turned from the upper hall window and made his way into the elaborate chamber. Two large thrones sat upon a dais along the far wall, midnight blue marble with silver accents, and featuring elaborate lunar depictions on the sides. Dark marble covered the floors with silver swirls reminiscent of the night sky.

The two thrones were identical—equal. The Lunae Ortus and his Lunae Amor. Partners, in every sense of the word.

Feeling a lurch in his stomach, Draco grimaced at the thought. He wasn't ready to commit his life to another, but the time was upon him all the same.

And he had a feeling the decision wouldn't be his.

* * *

After three days spent with her face buried in a book, Hermione was fraught with desperation. She found herself unable to reconcile Malfoy—the boy who had bullied her through their years at Hogwarts over something beyond her control—with a man who was about to take the highest seat of one of the most ancient and powerful magical orders in existence.

Furthermore, she found herself figuratively wrenching at her hair in determining his motives. Following the end of the war, the two Malfoys remaining in polite society had gone out of their way to reintegrate into the wizarding world. She couldn't even pin a number to the amount of galleons they'd donated to the rebuilding efforts at Hogwarts and along Diagon Alley.

So for him to reinstate this _Nocturnus Order_ merely for personal gain felt at odds with the persona he'd presented for half a decade.

But Hermione wasn't friends with uncertainty, and to make matters worse, there was next to nothing as far as information on this Order. Whether it was all hidden behind closed doors, lost to the annals of time, or simply passed through tribal knowledge, there were only a handful of books in all of Flourish and Blotts that did more than mention the Order.

And the rest only spoke to its reams of power and influence.

Which did little to reassure Hermione's reservations on the subject.

She couldn't quite picture Malfoy leading what seemed to equate to a magical dynasty in terms of scale and purpose—but the fact remained that he was the rightful heir. As Daphne had suggested, the last _Lunae Ortus_ had been Septimus Malfoy before Abraxas Malfoy had allowed the Order to fade away.

The situation in itself was distracting her from her voracious attention on the situation in France, which seemed to worsen by the week at an almost exponential rate. Witches and wizards who had contributed to society for years were being forced from their jobs and, in some cases, from their homes over creature affiliation. Werewolves, Veela, vampires—the campaign of Avance was far-reaching and vicious.

It made her blood boil. And Hermione couldn't understand why so many people were standing by and allowing it to happen.

Cold despair had crept into the back of her mind as she pored over the _Prophet_ every morning, tears stinging at her eyes at the injustice of it all.

That particular morning, it was the woes of a coven of vampires, who had been civil and proper with their requests for blood from a nearby hospital in exchange for volunteer work and other beneficial services. But under the new policies driven by Avance, the coven was left to fend for themselves. Unwilling to attack and kill humans, many of them had grown so weak the coven had been forced to flee in search of another arrangement.

Fury ripped through her as she turned the page, nearly tearing the newsprint in her anger, and froze, blinking down at the next article.

_Malfoy's Nocturnus Ascension Spurred by Rising Threat in France_

"It isn't possible," she whispered to herself, eyes widening as she skimmed the article, then read it another three times.

So the article claimed, Malfoy's decision to dust off the ancient magical order was due to the problematic situation in France. According to a spokesperson for the Order—not even Malfoy himself—the Nocturnus Order was far older than any ruling Ministry and therefore operated within its own laws and jurisdictions.

It meant this Order had the strength and wherewithal to oppose the new policies set forth by the French Ministry.

Hermione wasn't certain she was breathing.

But why in the name of Merlin did Malfoy care so much as to uproot his entire life?

There was a quick mention, at the bottom of the article, that Malfoy would be holding an open call for his future wife—the Lunae Amor. According to the article, it was ancient Nocturnus practice that the leader select a partner who would be not only his wife but also one of his chief advisers. There were words like symbiotic, bonding, and equals, and the woman's magical power would only combine with his to strengthen his rule. Hermione felt badly for the poor girl he'd choose.

Snorting, she folded the paper and set it aside, mind churning with more thoughts than she could comprehend.

* * *

"Can you honestly believe it, though?" Harry asked, a scowl drifting across his face as they wandered the streets of Godric's Hollow. Even years after the occurrences with Bathilda Bagshot and Nagini, Hermione still felt a frisson of unease when she visited the small wizarding village.

But it was important to Harry to visit now and again, and she suspected he was thinking of purchasing one of the small cottages on the outskirts.

"I can't," she replied, shaking her head. "Honestly, I thought one war in a lifetime was more than enough. But with the way things are going—" Cutting off, she shook her head. "Do you suppose things will wind up going that way?"

With a grimace, Harry swept his hair out of his eyes. "I hope not. But Avance can't be allowed to keep proliferating these toxic ideas. And if Malfoy's archaic order is getting involved—well, he hasn't got all those bannermen camped out at Malfoy Manor for nothing."

Whirling to face him, Hermione's eyes widened. "What? Bannermen?"

"For his Ascension." With a shrug, Harry went on. "I don't know much about it, of course, since I'm not a part of the Nocturnus Order. But I guess it's a really big deal for him to step into power. The entire Order's gathered in preparation of the full moon this weekend. And from how it sounds, they'll be set to go at his command. If things should happen to lead that direction."

Nose wrinkling, Hermione intoned, "I guess I thought it was more of a political tactic. Scare some sense into them since no one else is willing to check Avance's influence."

"It is," Harry amended. "From what I've read, Malfoy doesn't want war. But… he's sure got the numbers for it if he needs to."

The pair of them ambled down the street, Harry pausing now and again to peer closer at the houses. Frowning, Hermione wrung her hands absently. "I can't seem to find very much information about it."

"And it's driving you nuts, I suppose," Harry said, cracking a wry smile. Sobering, he carried on. "I think the whole thing is just so bloody ancient it's probably steeped with hidden information. I'm surprised you haven't reached out to Malfoy, the way this whole situation in France is bothering you."

Snickering, Hermione nudged him in the shoulder. "He's still Malfoy, fancy old dynasty or not."

"Just think," Harry teased, elbowing her back. "You could be his—whatsit—Lunae something. His consort. Then you'd have all the influence over the situation you could possibly want." Scrunching up his features, he barked a laugh. "That's a lark, isn't it?"

Chuckling, Hermione slid her hands into her pockets. "Can you imagine?"

A feeling like unease prickled across the surface of her skin.

The atmosphere between them shifted, and Harry glanced her way. "You can't tell me you're considering it."

"No," she bit out quickly. "Of course not. I'm sure he'll have the purest of the pure fawning all over him with an open call for potential partners."

"Sounds like it isn't about blood purity so much as it is power. Magical strength," Harry mused, squinting into the sun. "Ironic, given the way Malfoy berated you all those years over your blood status."

"Even so." Tittering, Hermione shifted on the spot, feeling antsy. "I'd have to marry Malfoy. Probably carry his spawn."

"Right." Offering a chuckle, Harry continued down the street, and she fell into step. "That definitely wouldn't be worth it."

Silence fell over the two of them as they rounded the outer edge of town before making their way back towards the square. Finally Hermione peered up at him, worrying her lower lip. "But what do you suppose Malfoy's going to do with all that power?"

Without missing a beat, Harry intoned, "Not a damn clue."

* * *

The full moon was high in a cloudless sky on the night of the Ascension. As per tradition, he hadn't had any involvement in preparation of the ceremony—his only duty was to arrive, and to Ascend. The _rise_ in Moon Rise, so to speak.

He'd been presented the traditional midnight blue robes of the Lunae Ortus, which seemed to glow of their own accord with a shimmer of iridescence. The coronet of the Ascension was a titanium silver wreath of constellations, intricate and fragile, and forged to incredible strengths. It was symbolic, so Draco supposed, of the Order he was now meant to lead.

The very thought set a crushing force of emotions in his chest, racing through his veins.

Draco had never realised the extent of the Nocturnus Order—and as everyone had poured in for the Ascension, he had found the first shreds of doubt creeping in, which had only compounded over the course of the week.

Not hundreds, but thousands. Thousands of people had crossed the globe for this event—for the rebirth of an Order he still didn't know everything about. And how was Draco meant to lead them with any small level of success when he hadn't been raised to do so? Past generations of Malfoys had been bred and raised with the expectation of Ascension. But Draco's father had pursued an altogether different path.

The advisers were knowledgeable, and it offered some solace to know he wasn't doing this alone. And of course, there would be the Lunae Amor.

_That_ set a different form of nerves chasing through him. In the coming week, swaths of women from within the Nocturnus Order and without would attend his open call. With only weeks to select the one who would rule at his side, Draco had almost no time between the Ascension and the Bonding.

Every time he mentioned something on the subject, the answers were the same. _It's the way things have always been._

He wondered if that was why Nocturnus had fallen out of favour to begin with. By a stubborn refusal to shift or deviate from the ancient traditions. Not that Draco was _opposed_ to the idea of selecting his Lunae Amor—he would simply have appreciated having more than a handful of weeks to do so.

And it was nice, he thought, that the ultimate decision would be his. The last thing he needed was a contract forcing him to marry some specific woman with whom he wouldn't get on or care for in any fashion. Furthermore, the magical bonds with his future wife would influence the strength of his rule—his Lunae Amor would sit at his side as an equal.

Maybe once he'd selected someone, she would be able to relate. Because for all the advisers—even his mother—telling him how everything was meant to be, Draco couldn't help feeling as if he'd taken on more than he could handle alone.

There was a certain small comfort in knowing, no matter how things went, he would have someone else at his side.

Draco had spent too many long years feeling alone.

Jolting back to the present, he was jarred by the Nocturnus high mage speaking Latin over him. Draco knew only small amounts of Latin—not counting what he'd been required to memorise for the Ascension—and he couldn't pick up on most of what the man was saying.

A handmaiden stepped forth, and Draco ducked his head as she secured the coronet atop his hair. Unable to manage more than a nod, he stood upright once more, eyes fixed ahead. The grounds of Malfoy Manor had been set up to hold the thousands of people in attendance, and it felt as if his heart was hammering in his throat as he thought ahead to what was about to happen.

For all of the mayhem that had led to this moment over the past weeks, the ceremony was quite short, as Draco was told. A series of rites and pronouncements as the clock struck midnight, the full moon high above him. With his initiation, Draco would become imbued with the elemental magic of the Lunae Ortus, which largely meant he would develop a lunar affiliation. Draco had always drawn mental strength from the dark and the quiet of the night, but now it would become literal—intrinsic and tied to his very core.

And then a feast and a party like none other. If the barrels of whisky and wine that had been shipped in that afternoon were any indication, it was an understatement. It was a comfort to realise the people of the Nocturnus Order were less interested in the minutiae of the Ascension and more interested in getting loaded. Maybe there was a chance he wouldn't fuck everything up, after all.

His eyes fluttered shut as the mage concluded his rites, and Draco returned a brief passage, nodding to the man before he vacated the small chambers in which Draco had been getting ready.

Releasing a long breath, Draco straightened his shoulders and made for the door which would lead him to the grounds and to his Ascension to Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**Wow, thanks everyone for the wonderful reception to the first chapter! I'm really excited to finally be sharing this story with you all. Updates will be weekly on Mondays, so the last was sort of a bonus since chapter one was an introduction. :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Alpha hugs to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347; beta hearts to ravenslight.


	3. Chapter 3

There were times in a person's life and decisions to be made—often the most significant, pivotal, and life-changing—when a person simply felt their mind slip into a different dimension. One where wildly impossible alternatives felt almost… possible.

Chewing on the stale crusts of her toast, Hermione gazed at the blank space of her kitchen table, sequestered away in her small London flat, as her mind churned and threatened to utterly dismantle her life as she'd come to know it. Her gaze flitted back to the cover page of the _Daily Prophet_ from two days prior. A full page of the black and white visage of Draco Malfoy blinked at her, and there was something other than disdain in those pale grey eyes. There was something elegant—almost regal—in the look of him.

The photograph—leaked, apparently—depicted his Ascension to the highest seat in the Nocturnus Order. So it was done, then, and there was nothing Hermione could have done even if she wanted to. And she had yet to decide if she wanted to—not if Malfoy's chief reason for Ascending was in line with her own goals.

A thick lump had accumulated in her throat when she first read the article and the dozens of times since.

Really, the idea was preposterous. She and Harry had joked about it the week before—about the very _thought_ that she might attend his search for a bride…

She was only twenty-four, and the last thing Hermione needed was to even consider tying herself to her childhood enemy for the rest of her life. Beyond that, there was not even a sliver of a chance that Malfoy would select her, out of all the other beautiful, worldly, and high class women who were likely to attend.

But the situation in France was only worsening—and could Hermione trust a cunning, manipulative snake like Malfoy to do what was best for everyone involved? The question had hovered in the back of her mind, drawing her focus from everything else, since her conversation with Harry. But after the most recent article had been published, it had become all-encompassing.

Hermione didn't like Malfoy, and she knew it was mutual. That much was certain. And the only thing she had to offer the situation were her intelligence and her magical ability, which most certainly wasn't stingy, but it probably wasn't anything beyond the ordinary.

Even so… she couldn't fight the idea that she needed to attend.

Even if Malfoy would laugh in her face at the thought. If he was to be roped into a marriage of convenience, of duty—maybe compatibility wasn't at the top of his mind.

Of course, the entire situation was crazy on another level. Hermione wasn't even sure whether she could force herself to walk through the doors of Malfoy Manor—not after what had happened the last time she had visited his grand home. But that had been years ago, and she liked to think she was stronger now. The occurrences of the war had left deep mental and emotional scars, but Hermione had strove for years to move past them.

Maybe it was another reason—she longed to lay to rest one more skeleton. Of course, there were other ways than to _marry _the bag of bones.

Blowing out a long breath, Hermione dropped her face into her hands. She officially had two hours left to decide.

* * *

Cussing herself and the many righteous things she stood for, Hermione found herself waiting in a posh sitting room with what must have been close to a hundred others. The girl beside her with a nervous quake to her shoulders couldn't have been any older than eighteen, and across from Hermione, one leg crossed over the other as she examined her cuticles while snapping what seemed to be an entire packet of Droobles, was a woman who looked into her late forties.

Shifting in her seat, Hermione clasped her hands together, pressing her lips into a thin line. If not for the fact that she had already summoned the courage to attend the bloody sideshow, she would have already given up and gone back home, claiming temporary insanity to herself.

But according to the large, magical projection on the far wall, there were only four consultations left before it was her turn. Some had gone on as long as ten or fifteen minutes, while others returned after only a minute or two. A few ladies hadn't returned at all, and Hermione wasn't sure why the thought left an ominous twist in her stomach.

She found herself wondering what she would even say to the bloke. Whether he could see the list of attendees in advance as her name drifted up the list, or if he would be baffled and derisive upon seeing her.

Especially now that her childhood rival had risen to one of the greatest seats of power in the global wizarding populace.

Planting her feet on the floor to quell the nervousness threatening to make itself known through a shake in her knees, Hermione forced a long breath out and sucked in a slow inhale. She was already here, and there was no backing out now. All she could do was make the best of it.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, in case it suggested something about Malfoy's waning patience—each of the next four women returned within minutes. One sobbed uncontrollably as she was hauled past in the firm grip of a guard, dressed in what she had surmised to be the official livery of the Nocturnus Order.

And before she'd had the chance to make up her mind one way or the other, Hermione saw her own name blinking at her from the magical projection. Her hands were clammy as she pressed them to her skirt, and she rose from the elegant straight-backed armchair in which she'd been seated.

For a brief instant, her gaze flickered to the door that would lead to the exit of the Manor. She could escape to the grounds and do her best to forget this ill-fated decision. She wouldn't even need to tell Harry about the lapse in judgement.

The thought was terribly enticing—and fleeting. Because she had deliberated long enough on this moment, and she wasn't sure whether Malfoy would even be willing to hear her out. But if she didn't try and things in France continued to grow worse, she wouldn't forgive herself the indiscretion of walking out.

Summoning every ounce of courage she could manage, Hermione steeled her posture and nodded at the hard-faced guard waiting on her. He led her from the room, and with each brazen thump of her heart in her chest, she wondered what in the hell she was doing.

* * *

The walk to the throne room was longer than Hermione had anticipated—or maybe it was just her nerves playing havoc on her sensibilities. As the hallways of Malfoy Manor twisted like a maze around every corner, she forced herself to keep her breathing steady in the event that she were to pass through a room she recognized from her last visit during the war.

But nothing jumped out at her as familiar, and it occurred to Hermione how utterly massive the Manor truly was.

Finally the guard at her side stopped, pushing open an elaborate, midnight blue door with inlaid silver detailing. Hermione might have rolled her eyes at its complicated design if not for the desire to run coursing through her with every step.

She followed the guard into the room, her feet moving as if of their own accord, and when she glanced up from the centre of the room, Malfoy was ahead of her. He sat at a desk covered in papers, despite the two massive thrones looming to his right. Two others sat at either side of him.

Dressed in robes of deep blue, an intricate silver crown perched on his head, he looked as she remembered—only not. He was in conversation with someone who looked to be one of his advisers, dressed in a similar fashion as the guards. Hermione forced a swallow, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. She had worn one of her nicest outfits, after much deliberation as to what sort of image she wanted to present, and she fought the urge to fidget with her sleeves.

Then Malfoy glanced up.

His eyes widened; he blinked several times; his lips pursed.

A harsh silence hung over the room for such an extended moment as Hermione held his penetrating stare that she saw the guards shifting in her periphery.

Folding his arms flat on the table in front of him, Malfoy leaned forward in his seat, eyes squinted as if trying to determine if she was actually who he thought. The corner of his mouth curled with the slightest hint of a sneer before falling neutral once more.

Then he huffed, in a soft voice, "Next," and turned back to his adviser.

Hermione gaped at his blatant dismissal, heat suffusing her cheeks and throat as she stood, frozen to the spot. The long fingers of a guard coiled around her upper arm, preparing to remove her from the room.

She ground out through her teeth, "Malfoy."

The fingers around her arm tensed, the guard's expression hardening at the audacity that she dare address their leader in such a way.

But Malfoy's lips pulled into a smirk, genuine amusement darting across his face as he shook his head. "Granger—what in the name of Merlin would possess you to come here today?"

Releasing a soft breath, Hermione dropped her head to the side. "I have many thoughts on the situation in France—and on the strengthening of your dynasty."

Without missing a beat, Malfoy said, "Of course you do." As he lifted a hand, the guard retreated, and his searing gaze swept her once more, calculating and precise, the skin around his eyes tightening. He said something quiet to his advisers and then announced, louder, "I'll meet with this one in person after."

Hermione bristled. _This one_. When the guard stepped forward again, it was to gesture towards the door once more. She stared Malfoy down for one more moment before turning to leave—she could feel his stare linger on her the whole way from the room.

* * *

Draco could no longer concentrate. Hermione _fucking_ Granger.

After hours of meeting with mild-mannered, insipid purebloods—in walked Hermione Granger, all wild hair and entitlement.

And while he'd initially been of a mind to dismiss her as the headache she'd always been, he couldn't deny his interest in actually hearing what she had to say. _Away_ from the squadron of guards and advisers that had been lurking at his side ever since his Ascension.

There were still two dozen names on the list, and Draco sped through them, finding none he was interested in speaking with any further. One pureblood princess was like any other pureblood princess, and Draco desired a Lunae Amor who was more interested in ruling at his side than mindlessly producing his heirs.

Not that _Granger_ would willingly do anything at his side—which made it all the more intriguing that she had shown up at all.

Years had passed since the pair of them had even interacted, and he couldn't deny her intelligence. Much like he couldn't deny the fact that she most likely had her own agenda—and Draco was curious how closely it aligned with his own. Even so, he knew she would be involved in the Order as a key adviser and strategist, as the role would ask of any woman he chose as a bride.

When accepting the idea that he would need to select a Lunae Amor, Draco had already acknowledged the fact that the partnership would be based more in duty than in compatibility. But if Granger was still as much of a swot as he remembered, he wasn't sure even her brilliance and power would be enough to persuade him.

A handful of women over the course of the day had caught his attention, and he'd asked each of them to stay for a preliminary meeting—but by the time he was through the last of them, Draco was weary from a long, trying day, and he still hadn't found any woman who met the specifications he was hoping for.

He'd left his meeting with Granger for last, for several reasons. For one, it would annoy her to be left to wait, and there was a small part of Draco that wanted to grind her gears for old times' sake. Secondly, he suspected speaking with her would be exhausting—and thirdly, he didn't want to be rushed, in the event that she _did_ have something valuable to share.

Not that he expected she would be the one he would choose. But it was worthwhile to at least hear her out.

Frowning, Draco halted outside of the small room in which she'd been waiting. After what had happened the last time she'd set foot in Malfoy Manor, he supposed she would only bring herself to return with good reason.

Smoothing out his robes, he swung open the door and strode into the room.

As he suspected, Granger looked irritable, but her expression quickly dropped when she noticed him, and she jumped to her feet as she eyed his approach with caution.

"Granger." He extended a hand, waiting while she hesitated. If the meeting was going to devolve into a shouting match—which was likely—he wasn't going to taunt the beast by starting off on the wrong foot.

Finally she placed her small hand into his, giving it a firm shake. She was so unlike the flimsy pureblood girls he'd spent all day speaking with.

She returned his greeting with a crisp nod. "Malfoy. Or rather, what is it now? Lunae Ortus?"

Draco felt amusement tug at his features at her efforts. "Why don't we forego the titles, for now at least? After all, I surmise you're here in a bid to _claim_ a title in this order."

Shifting on her feet, Granger looked uncomfortable. By the way her features tightened, Draco wondered if she was debating whether she still ought to make a run for it.

Softening, he waved a hand at the chair in which she'd been previously. "Take a seat, Granger." When she sat, folding her hands in her lap, Draco took the seat facing her. "Why don't you tell me—as plainly as you can—why you've come here today?"

Almost unnoticeably, her shoulders straightened, and she fixed him with a stare. Her eyes were a sort of warm melted chocolate colour, and it occurred to Draco he'd never been this close to her. And that he'd never paid any attention to the colour of her eyes. Her hair was uncontrollably curly as it always had been, but there was a tousled look to it now and the youthful frizz was gone.

Her outfit was nice, if a season old. The stylist team would have fun with her.

"Obviously," she began, her voice soft, "your call for a suitress has been highly publicized. My research on the Nocturnus Order has come up short, but what I _have_ learned is that your influence is both vast and deep, and that for whatever reason, you've decided to Ascend in response to the situation in France."

Her voice grew more assured as she spoke, although her eyes didn't quite meet his as she went on.

"It is my great desire for the French Ministry to see reason, and to resolve the problem with Avance, but I have no means to do so on my own." Releasing a long, shuddering breath, she finished, "If you were to select me as your Lunae Amor, I would do what you ask of me so that we can work together to put an end to this situation."

Her words tugged at something in Draco's chest, but he found himself snickering. Then a chuckle burst from his lips. "Granger, you do realize this is a marriage bond, not a job interview?"

Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes tightened with affront. "I am aware there would be _other_ considerations involved."

"Other considerations," Draco drawled, "such as bearing an heir, for instance."

"Yes." The word was bit through clenched teeth; her expression was hard as she wrung her hands in her lap. "Like that."

"Tell me," Draco went on, wanting to get to the heart of the matter. "Why do you care so much about the situation in France as to go to such lengths as marry _me_, surrendering everything as you know it for the rest of your life? _Why_ does it matter so much to you?"

Granger stared at him for a long moment. "Does it matter? Why have you uprooted _your_ entire life to Ascend in some ancient order over it?"

Scowling at her, he said, "It matters." When she wasn't forthcoming with a response, he continued. "It matters because you wouldn't be just my wife, you'd be my Lunae Amor—my partner. My most respected adviser. And if I can't trust your motivations now, how on earth do you expect me to trust everything to you when it matters most?"

Looking taken aback, she released a sigh. "I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Malfoy. My _job_ is to look out for marginalized magical groups—the same groups Avance is stepping over on their way to power in France." Pausing, she glanced at him, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth. "Furthermore… my entire existence in the wizarding world has been characterized by the marginalising prejudice I've received myself. It isn't about what I want, but what's best for the wizarding world. But still, creatures and Muggle-borns are not far apart, in a lot of estimations, and if we have a chance to cut off another war before it begins…"

Her words trailed off with a hesitant shrug, and Draco chewed his tongue for a moment while he stared at her.

He noticed she hadn't directly mentioned his own prejudice towards her when they were younger, and while a part of him was grateful, there was a gentle coil of shame in his stomach.

"I will mention," Draco said delicately, "that I wouldn't have asked you to stay today if I was still bothered over your blood status. _That _is a lesson I learned years ago."

"I appreciate that."

"My motivations are less noble," he went on, adjusting his tie. "Having foreseen the situation on the horizon for a long time, Ascending was my way of showing everyone the Malfoy line is not susceptible to being dragged through the wreckage of another war. As you've undoubtedly seen, I have the numbers to fight a war if I need. But ultimately, my aim is to check Avance's power, and hopefully, to force them to retreat into the dirt once more. We don't need another war, and if I have a say in it, there won't be one."

Granger gave a nod, and some of the tension deflated from her shoulders, as if relieved by his words.

"I have to assume," she said, her words careful and measured, "the fact that you're even willingly speaking to me suggests you're considering my offer."

After a brief pause, Draco responded, "I am considering it."

"You should know, in that case, I'll never be the quiet, doting wife," she mused. "I have opinions, and ideas, and I'll want to be involved. But if our goals are ultimately the same, which it sounds as if they are… I'm willing to do my best to put everything between us in the past in order to move forward."

For a long moment, silence hung between them. It occurred to Draco the conversation had gone significantly better than he'd expected—especially since they'd never spoken to one another for so long.

But then he chuckled, shaking his head. Granger lifted one brow.

"_You_ should know," he said idly, "if I want a quiet, doting wife I could select one of the dozens of proper painted pureblood ladies who came by today and call it the end of the matter." Dropping his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward, meeting her gaze. "What I need is a partner. Didn't you see the thrones? Equal. The connection between the Lunae Ortus and the Lunae Amor is symbiotic—only as strong as the bond between them. Your ideas and opinions would be _welcomed_."

She stared at him for a moment; something in her expression set his heart racing.

"But I need you to really consider," Draco went on, his voice softer, "if you're so committed to your cause to spend the rest of your life with me. Because make no mistake about it, the Lunae bonds are forever, Granger."

Her face faltered with a hint of a grimace, but she nodded.

Draco rose to his feet, and she followed suit. "I will speak with my advisers and be in touch this week once I've made a decision. The Bonding Ceremony will take place under the next full moon, in a little over three weeks." Cursing the hint of colour that came to his cheeks, he added, "That does _not_ include consummation. Just for the record."

"Oh," she said, surprised, "very well."

Merlin, the mere thought of intimacy with her made him blush like a virgin. But then, there was something about Granger that set him off-kilter—there always had been.

Quietly, he said, "Take care, Granger."

Then he strode from the room.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the wonderful reception to the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one and I'd love to hear your thoughts as we move forward :)

Love and hugs to my pre-reading squad, Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and Ravenslight.


	4. Chapter 4

After spending the entire previous day attempting to select a suitress, all Draco wanted to do was hide himself away from the responsibility—and the deadline of it. While there had been a number of ladies who had caught his eye, he couldn't shake the idea that the best choice was—almost unbelievably—Granger.

His advisers were divided on the idea, but even those opposed to her blood status had conceded the thought that she was powerful and had significant influence over the wizarding community in Britain, if not beyond.

The real question was whether or not they would drive one another insane as soon as work together. Their conversation the day before had been civil enough, but they had both been on their best behaviour. Many of his other options would be a simpler match, to be sure.

But he needed a strategist and a partner in his Lunae Amor, not just a wife.

As Draco paced the corridor, deep in thought, he nearly stumbled into his mother. As he veered to the side to avoid colliding with her, he carded a hand through his hair, feeling frazzled.

His mother's lips quirked with a hint of amusement. "Draco. How is the selection process going?"

She made it sound so clinical; wrinkling the bridge of his nose, he sighed. "It's challenging, as expected. The issue is whether I select a woman who will make a good wife or one who will be more involved with the Order but doesn't understand the nuances of high society."

"This isn't a simple arranged union, Draco," his mother said, waving a flippant hand. "There is more at stake here than blood status and etiquette. The give and take of power between the Lunae Ortus and his Lunae Amor is the most important aspect. Why shouldn't a potential choice be both?"

Grimacing, Draco hesitated. "Because the most powerful, influential, and potentially involved option is Hermione Granger."

Narcissa froze, her hands clasped together at her front, a furrow to her brow. "Granger. As in Harry Potter's friend." It wasn't a question, but a confirmation. At Draco's nod, she replied, "I see."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he frowned. "Do you?"

"I do." With a slow nod, Narcissa's expression was pensive. "She is certainly powerful in a magical sense—and her influence in Britain is almost unrivaled due to her role in the war. Draco, do not discount her as your Lunae Amor because she is not of pure blood. I think she would be an excellent option—but why on earth has she any interest at all?"

"That's what I wanted to know." Shaking his head, Draco went on. "She said she has a vested interest in marginalised populations and magical creatures."

The look on his mother's face was calculating. "And will she stand in the way of your mission with France? If things don't go according to plan?"

"I don't think so."

Silence fell over the pair of them as they deliberated the merit of such a union.

When his mother spoke again, her words were quiet. "You need to be certain."

His response was delicate as he nodded. "Noted."

He carried on his way.

* * *

While most of the banner families of the Nocturnus Order had retreated following the Ascension, a number had remained, including the Nocturnus Guard and the Nocturnus Council. They were staying in an obscure wing of the Manor, and Draco rarely had cause to run into any of them other than intentionally or through prior arrangements.

He tried not to think about how things had gone the last time someone had taken up semi-permanent residence in Malfoy Manor.

Two mornings after the open call, Draco was scheduled to meet with his advisers to finalize the decision of the Lunae Amor, because proper preparations would need to be made in advance of the bonding ceremony on the full moon.

There was a nervous lump in the pit of his stomach as he made his way into what had been dubbed the Nocturnus Wing—which included both the throne room and the strategy room—having been revived from obscurity through the imbued magic of the Manor.

He had selected three favourable options, although it was a formality. Two of them were bland and uninteresting, and he couldn't even tell them apart. The third… the third had kept him up for two nights now.

Because the only person who had expressed even a vague interest in the deeper intentions of the Order itself, beyond his position and the title at stake, was Hermione Granger.

It was certainly ironic, given he'd belittled her for her blood status for years. Which had now been made irrelevant in light of things of actual importance. Like her magical ability.

One of the ancient Nocturnus journals he'd read through in preparation of the Ascension had suggested the magic of the Lunae Ortus would recognise well enough the best potential suit for the Lunae Amor, and he wasn't entirely certain that wasn't at play. But she truly was the best for a symbiotic union, as much as they were likely to drive one another up the walls.

As much as the archaic advisers might not understand.

A hand clapped Draco on the back, jarring him from his thoughts. Turning, he offered a forced smile to Hugo Bergen, treasurer and son of his chief adviser, and the man was evidently privy to attending Nocturnus Council as well.

"So," Hugo prompted in his Swedish accent, "you have selected one then?"

"I'm in final deliberations," Draco said, not wanting to reveal everything to the young man. Hugo struck him as spoiled, entitled, and self-important. He grimaced at the connection.

Hugo rolled his eyes. "I heard you were considering a Mudblood. Surely not?"

"As you must know," Draco ground through clenched teeth, "blood status is not the most important consideration in a union such as this. If I select a _Muggle-born_ witch, it is no trouble with the Order. The best match is the best match."

"Technically," Hugo corrected, unabashed. "But no one _wants_ you to sully such a pure line over it." With a conspiratorial grin, as if they were friends, he added, "Only no one has the bollocks to say it to your face."

Releasing a tight breath, Draco shoved past. "Excuse me—I'm late."

He swung open the elaborate door—midnight blue with the phases of the moon—and walked into the strategy room, ignoring the fact that Hugo followed him inside.

Elias Bergen stood inside in Nocturnus livery and bowed his head, with a murmured, "Lunae." The rest of the council rose and bowed, and Draco ventured forward with a short nod. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to grown men bowing and treating him like royalty—even if, technically, he was.

There was a brief, trivial discussion with regards to a location on the grounds to hold the bonding ceremony, and Draco couldn't figure out why they wouldn't simply use the same location as generations of Malfoys had done in the past.

Zoning out, his thoughts returned to the decision at hand.

There were three black and white photographs of three women on the table in front of him. Staring at each in turn, he found his gaze lingering on the third.

Elias Bergen rose, drawing Draco's attention, and asked, "Have you made your final decision?"

With a hint of a disdainful sneer at Hugo, Draco planted his palm flat on the photograph of Hermione Granger. Magic shimmered from his fingertips into the page, casting her visage with a silver hue as the other two photographs dissolved to ash.

Bergen nodded, his expression impassive. "Very well. You've selected a Lunae Amor."

A quiet murmur of conversation arose, but Draco found himself staring only at the shimmering photograph before him. Under his breath, he muttered, "Merlin help me."

* * *

The sound of talons rapping on glass drew Hermione from her book. Heart leaping in her chest, she paced to the window where the largest, most elegant bird she'd ever seen rested on the sill. As she opened the pane, it flew in, and Hermione blinked.

The owl wore some sort of embellished kerchief around its throat, midnight blue with silver embroidery, and eyed her with a stern glare as she attempted to refrain from laughing. It brandished a scroll of parchment, sealed with a silver wax crest.

Accepting the scroll, Hermione gave the bird a solemn nod before it departed. There was a quake of trepidation to her fingers as she unrolled the missive; evidently the sender had not instructed the owl to wait on a response.

_Miss Hermione Granger_

_The Lunae Ortus Draco Malfoy requests your presence at eight o'clock PM this evening at Malfoy Manor. Please arrive via Apparition at the main gates._

_Sincerely,_

_Oro Winnam  
__Court Scribe  
__Nocturnus Order_

Hermione wasn't sure whether she ought to run screaming or laugh at the pretension of it all. She had only arrived home from work a half an hour prior to receiving the owl, and it was already seven o'clock. How odd that the letter would request she come by so late in the evening.

Perhaps Malfoy had literally become nocturnal.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Hermione set the letter down. _If_ the invitation was an offer, it would be her last opportunity to back out. As much as she'd tried not to think about it, little else had crossed her mind ever since meeting with him at Malfoy Manor several days prior. And while she was surprised to hear from him, his words made sense. By the way it sounded, he was looking for more than a woman to warm his sheets and carry his heirs.

Maybe she had been the only one to even suggest otherwise.

Not that the idea of marrying Malfoy sat well with her at all—but there had been a matured congeniality about him when they met, and it had inspired a shallow seed of hope that he might not be as terrible as he had been growing up. If nothing else, he understood the gravity of the situation.

And while the problem in France _wasn't_ Hermione's fight, specifically, the rights and privileges of minorities and underdogs had always been her fight. The abuse of power had always been, and would always be, her fight.

If she were to sit idly by and watch as the situation grew worse, lives lost and populations displaced, she would never forgive herself if she'd had an opportunity to step in and had decided not to. If she had opted to be selfish.

Malfoy's motivations still didn't exactly mesh with the drastic measures he was taking, but he had been more open with her about it than she had expected. Maybe he truly had grown up since the war. But everyone had, to an extent.

She found herself staring at the contents of her closet, mind spinning with the possible implications of such a meeting. Disinterested in impressing Malfoy, as there were bigger things at stake, she selected a dress in a deep navy blue. It wasn't ideal, and the style was a few seasons back, but surely Malfoy was aware she hadn't made his final list for her fashion sense.

By the time she was dressed, her curls tamed from a long day, and stifling a yawn, it was nearly eight. Blowing out a long, anxious breath, Hermione Apparated to Malfoy Manor before she could think better of it.

* * *

Draco bristled as he felt the shimmer of the wards, informing him someone had crossed the threshold of the grounds. With his father in Azkaban, he had taken on the role of patriarch, and along with it, a whole host of other responsibilities. Not counting his duties now as Lunae Ortus.

"Podski," Draco spoke aloud. A small elf in the Malfoy crest appeared at his side. "I will retrieve Miss Granger myself when she arrives. Please prepare a tea service for my meeting. And… perhaps also include a decanter of the fine whisky."

"Very well, Master," Podski responded, ducking into a deep bow. "Podski will do that right away."

When the elf disappeared with a _crack_, Draco carried on towards the front gates. It was a beautiful, clear night, early hints of spring on the air despite the chill of the evening. The moon was already high in the sky, and Draco felt a keen awareness of it, as he always did now.

There was something rejuvenating about the moon—energizing—and it went along with the lunar affiliation his magic had developed through his Ascension. The moon quite literally gave him strength.

He hadn't yet learned how to channel the power he absorbed from the moon, but he knew he could do so, and he also knew his Lunae Amor would influence that as well.

Granger waited outside the main gates, and something like surprise flickered in her gaze when he greeted her. "I thought you'd have elves to get the door for you."

"I do," Draco said with a nod as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "And the guards, if you can believe, tried to insist _they_ be the ones to retrieve you, so they could borrow your wand."

A hint of a smile curled Granger's lips. "Guards or babysitters?"

With a huff of a breath, Draco muttered, "A little of both, to be honest. Or so they try."

As he led her up the walk towards the Manor, he found himself lost for words even though they had many things to discuss. But there was something peaceful about the calm of night with Granger at his side.

Finally she said, "I can only imagine you invited me here for a reason beyond a quiet walk through the grounds in the dark."

Draco offered a smirk. "No, that was all. Just a quiet walk." She granted him a short laugh, and he added, "We have much to talk about. I only thought you might like to see the grounds properly."

Curiosity sat on her face, tension in the set of her shoulders and the uneasiness in her gait. But she only said, "Fine."

"Part of being the Lunae Ortus," Draco began, in an effort to fill the silence, "is that I've developed an affiliation with the moon. I can channel its strength through my own magic—or I will be able to, anyways. After the bonding ceremony."

"Fascinating," Granger breathed, without a hint of sarcasm. "That sounds like powerful magic."

He cast her a look. "It is."

For a brief moment, he debated moving their meeting into the gardens so he could prolong his exposure with the moon, but Granger looked cold even with her cloak on, so he led her towards the house instead in slow, measured steps.

"I suppose you know why I've invited you here."

Lifting a brow, she responded, "You've either selected me or this is a very roundabout way of turning me away."

Draco frowned as they reached the Manor, and once in the foyer, he hung her cloak on a coat rack. He hadn't wanted to start the evening on the wrong foot and had requested the elves allow him free reign in welcoming her. "You were the best option with regards to what I'm looking for."

"Very well." Granger dipped her head in a nod. "Then I suppose the fact that I showed up should tell you my answer."

Glancing at her as they walked towards the Nocturnus Wing, he slid his hands into his pockets. "So you're going to marry me?"

"How romantic," she teased, something alight within her eyes.

Draco snickered. "This isn't about romance, Granger. I can't promise you romance—and if that's what you're looking for, maybe we should—"

"I was joking."

He frowned, uncertain how to navigate the waters between them. As youths, they had never connected due to house lines and his own ingrained prejudice about her blood status, and then the matter of a war came between them. And now, as adults, he didn't know what to say to her.

Which made things all the more awkward since there was a good chance she was going to become his wife.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he announced, "We should discuss some things."

Granger nodded, the trace of teasing humour from moments before gone from her countenance. "I imagined that was why you asked me here."

Draco paced forward, pushing open the elaborate door of the throne room; Granger stopped on the threshold, wide-eyed and startled. He strode ahead, crossing the large expanse of the marble floor, before taking up a seat on one of the thrones. Eyeing her where she still stood, he dropped his head to the side.

"Take a seat, Granger."

Her voice was a hoarse whisper. "Where?"

Rolling his eyes, he smirked. Mockery was, if nothing else, safe ground. "The only other seat in the room. See how it feels."

Tentative, Granger made her way to the throne at his side. Within moments, she sunk into the plush fabric of the seat, looking small in its impressive height. She mused, "It's very comfortable."

"Of course it is; it's a bloody throne." Chuckling, Draco watched as she made herself at home; when she sat tall, she looked regal. She looked like she belonged there. "I know you don't like house- elves, but here at the Manor we employ six. They make a modest living wage and are entitled to several weeks of holidays a year, which they all regularly refuse."

A flush coloured Granger's cheeks. "Thank you for letting me know."

Gazing out into the abyss of dark marble, he went on. "A lot has changed around here since the war. I thought you'd like to know. The drawing room… has been demolished and rebuilt. Along with many other spaces where _he_ regularly held court with his Death Eaters."

She released a tight breath but offered only a nod.

"Podski," Draco said. Startled, Granger gave him a look, until Podski appeared in the room with a cart bearing a full tea service along with the whisky Draco had requested.

"Master." Podski dropped into a deep bow, and with a snap of his long fingers, a small silver table appeared between them. The elf's eyes widened as he took in Granger. "Mistress is lovely!"

"Thank you, Podski," Granger said with a warm smile. "And thank you for the tea! It looks fantastic."

Podski flushed a dull pink. "The pleasure is Podski's, miss!"

With a crack, the elf Disapparated. Draco waved a hand. "Podski's prepared tea, and also, we have whisky."

Hesitating, Granger fired him a look. "I feel like we might need whisky for this. But let's start with tea."

Unable to stop a grin, he nodded. "That sounds like a good plan."

Draco kept a close eye on the way she prepared her tea. He hadn't been lying when he said romance wasn't a part of the arrangement—it certainly wasn't his forte, anyways, and this marriage was one of duty and influence over anything else. But there wasn't any harm in getting to know things about Granger—such as how she preferred her tea—if they were going to attempt to spend the rest of their lives together in one piece.

Granger was attentive as he explained the basics of the bonding ceremony and what sort of role she could play in the Order as his Lunae Amor. Once he'd exhausted what he knew, he turned to her. "Have you any questions?" Pausing, he added, "Who am I kidding; of course you've got questions."

Her lips twitched as she took a sip of her second cup of tea. "Will we require a contract?"

"Yes." Draco nodded. "I convinced the advisers to allow us to have this meeting in an informal manner when they tried to insist upon attending for the formal side of things. As a compromise, the advisers will draft a contract between us in advance of the ceremony."

Silently she nodded, deep in thought. "You mentioned the bonding ceremony doesn't require consummation of the marriage."

"Straight to it, then," Draco muttered under his breath, thinking they might need the whisky shortly. "No. It isn't a part of the bonding ceremony. The bonding is between you, me, and the lunar powers of the universe."

"I suppose I always thought an ancient bond like this would require consummation to go into effect," she mused, as if to herself.

Snickering, Draco shook his head. "You sound disappointed. We can if you like."

Her cheeks flushed, and Draco was glad he wasn't the only one embarrassed over the topic. "That isn't what I meant."

"The contract _will_ include consummation at some point, as well as the production of at least one heir." Attempting to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible, Draco rose and poured two healthy portions of whisky. Granger offered a grateful nod. "Obviously, that will require both of us."

She managed a delicate, "Obviously."

"But," Draco went on, "I don't love the idea of being forced into it. And there will be no rush on that side of things—especially since we have more important matters at hand to deal with. So at the very least, we'll have time to grow more comfortable with each other."

Her voice dropped. "That's fair. I imagine I'll need to live here?"

"Yes." Taking a long swig, he winced. "Do you have a flat or something? You'll also likely need to quit your job."

"What?" Her gaze snapped to him, a furrow in her brow. "Why can't I continue to work? And for the record, I have two jobs."

Draco rolled his eyes. They had survived almost an hour of amicability. "Because, Granger, you'll have duties with the Order. As we've already discussed, you'll play a key role as my personal adviser and strategist. And besides that, you'll be in the public eye now, even more than you already were. Your life is tied to the prosperity of the Nocturnus Order, and I'll not have you _kidnapped_ or something to be used against us—"

"I won't be kidnapped," she exclaimed, scowling. "Merlin, you make it sound as if I'm some helpless bloody—"

"Granger," he huffed; she fell silent. "These are not my rules. If you think you can just do as you please and also sit in the ruling seat of one of the most powerful magical orders in history, you're sorely mistaken."

"I'll continue to work," she snipped, "and you can include that in your contract."

His tone was deadpan. "You'll be the first Lunae Amor to do so."

"Fine," she said, her voice rising, "then maybe it's about time!"

Pressing his fingers into his temple, Draco took a long draw from his whisky before pouring himself another glass. "It isn't about oppressing you and your rights as a woman, as I assume you're thinking; it's about the fact that you simply won't have the time to contribute adequately to multiple fronts. Your role here _is_ a full time position."

Granger sipped angrily from her whisky for a long moment as his words sunk in. Finally she announced, "I will leave one of my jobs and keep the other. And in advance of the ceremony, I'll take some time off."

Blowing out a breath, Draco muttered, "Fine."

This was a bad idea.

Looking both displeased and uncomfortable, Granger shifted in her seat, looking around the room. "Will you direct me through my responsibilities? Or perhaps you've some texts I can read—"

"I can do that."

"When shall I move in?"

Draco chewed his tongue for a moment as he stared at her. "Whenever you like before the bonding ceremony. Perhaps sooner might be better, so you can grow accustomed to things as soon as possible. You'll have tailors and handmaidens to prepare you. I can show you to your quarters if you like."

"We won't be sharing?" Her brows were high on her forehead, her expression otherwise stoic, as if trying to maintain her civility.

"That is something that will be up for discussion," Draco said simply. "I figured you wouldn't want to. Your quarters would be beside mine in the same wing."

With a nod, she said, "Fine." She slammed the last of her whisky. "Is there anything else we need to discuss tonight?"

Wincing, he shook his head. "Maybe that's enough for one night. I'll have the contract drafted, and we can go through it once more before it's finalized."

"Very well." Rising to her feet, she stepped down from the dais with her arms folded across her front, and Draco followed, feeling exhausted. "I will make the arrangements we've discussed on my end, and plan to move in within the coming week."

"Good." Draco was relieved it was one thing they wouldn't have to argue on. The last thing he needed was a wife who refused to live with him. "I'll owl you some materials if you return them as soon as you're through."

Chewing on her lip, she extended a hand. Amused, Draco shook it. "That sounds acceptable. Thank you."

"Thank _you." _After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Hermione." When her brows lifted, and she opened her mouth to speak, he ran a hand through his hair. "I'll have to call you something other than Granger. _Please_ don't fight me on changing your name."

The skin around her eyes tightened, and for a second he expected another round. "I will concede this one, for the sake of your archaic little order."

"My archaic little order," Draco repeated with a chuckle, "that has more power than you can imagine."

For a long moment, Granger stared at him, and there was something he didn't recognize in her expression. But then she released a tight breath. "I respect what you're doing. For what it's worth. _That's_ why I'm here."

As he held her stare, feeling something tighten in his chest, he nodded. "I appreciate that. And… I think we can make things work. It won't always be easy, and maybe it won't be what you would have chosen for yourself under other circumstances…"

"But it isn't about me," she said quietly. "And it isn't about you."

"Right." Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, having Granger at his side. He fought a grimace at the thought. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for your wonderful support with this story so far. A lot of elements are about to be set in motion and I hope you'll stick with me as we dig deeper. :)

Alpha love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and beta hugs to Ravenslight. Go give them some love!


	5. Chapter 5

Glancing up, Hermione froze at a rustling noise coming from the sitting room of her small flat. The stack of clothes she'd been levitating towards her trunk collapsed to the floor in a heap. Cautiously, she crept to the door of her bedroom and peered into the corridor, wand clenched in her white-knuckled hand.

"Hermione?"

Releasing a sigh, she lowered her wand. "Harry, what are you doing here?"

Harry's emerald eyes were startled as he stared around her flat. "What's happened here? Were you robbed? Why didn't you Floo me right away?"

"I wasn't robbed," she huffed, rolling her eyes even as a bitter twist of unease settled into her stomach. "I'm packing."

Lowering his chin, Harry shook his head. "I don't understand. Where are you going?"

Hermione fixed Harry with a stern look as she blew out a long breath. "I'm moving. To Wiltshire."

"What's in Wiltsh—" Cutting himself off, Harry's jaw dropped, and instantly he stuttered a step back. "No—don't tell me you _actually_—"

"Fine," Hermione sighed. "I won't tell you."

As if suddenly realizing the full gravity of the situation, Harry grabbed hold of her shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of her jumper. "Tell me, Hermione, you didn't go."

With a gentle nod, she said, "I went."

A long moment of silence hung, suspended, between them as Harry simply stared; she could see the cogs whirring behind his gaze. "So then you're, what—"

Hermione sucked in a breath and blew it out through her nose. "Malfoy's asked me to be his Lunae Amor. We're… I'm marrying him, Harry."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, shaking his head. "No, you can't—Hermione, this isn't your fight! Merlin, tell me this is a fucking joke or something—"

Although she gave an involuntary wince, she held firm, already having realized no one would understand why she needed to do this. In a startling, surreal moment, she felt more of a kinship with Malfoy than anyone else. Because people would ask why _he_ cared so much, too.

"Don't you get it?" she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. "It has to be my fight. This sort of discrimination needs to end. The situation in France is only growing worse by the week."

"Merlin…" Harry muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as he paced her sitting room. "Then find another way, Hermione! You can't honestly tell me you _want_ to marry that bloody—"

He was cut off mid-tirade by the sharp scratching of talons on the window. Releasing a tight breath, Hermione stretched over a pile or boxes to reach the window, and the same massive owl from several days previous flew in, decked in its Nocturnus livery.

Harry grimaced. "Is that owl wearing a fucking kerchief—"

"Yes," Hermione interrupted, scrounging in a drawer for some owl treats as she swiped the missive. After swallowing the snacks in one bite, the owl faced her with large yellow eyes. Turning back to Harry, she forced a smile. "It's Malfoy's owl."

"That's the most pretentious thing I've ever—"

Cutting him off with a loud click of her tongue, Hermione read the letter, eyes widening.

_Granger_

_What's your address? We need to go through this contract, and I need to get out of the Manor for a while._

_DM_

Having already packed her stationery, Hermione dug around for a stray quill and inkwell and scrawled a response on the back of the same scroll before handing it back to the owl. With a low hoot, the bird took flight through the window once more.

Feeling a dull flush colour her cheeks and neck, she watched the owl's flight. Softly, she said, "I have to meet with Malfoy. We can carry on with this discussion later. But everything's already in motion. He's asked me, and I've confirmed. The bonding ceremony is to take place under the coming full moon."

When she chanced a sidelong glance at Harry, he was gaping in horror. "You can't be—" Growing more agitated, he wrenched a hand through his hair again, and his voice dropped. "Why didn't you tell me you were doing this?"

"Because you would have tried to stop me," she whispered, feeling a sting of moisture at the corners of her eyes. Through all of it, she'd done her best to keep a level head because the entire matter was bigger than her. But now her doubts and insecurities bled through.

This was for the rest of her _life_. And how could she manage dealing with Malfoy for that long? What if she came to regret it?

The despair mingled with sympathy on Harry's face was nearly her undoing in that moment, and as she stared at him, eyes wide and burning with the threat of hot tears, she found herself lost for words, a heavy furrow in her brow.

"Hermione," Harry groaned, shaking his head. "You don't need to save everyone."

Barking out a laugh, she swiped at a tear as it broke and chased down her cheek. "Some might say I learned _that_ from you."

Scrunching up his face, he muttered, "You bloody well might have done." Then he sighed, tugging her into his arms as she released a noisy sniffle. "But no matter what… you've got me, and you'll still have me. Even if you marry Malfoy. Which, by the way, is a repulsive thought."

With a watery laugh, Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around his midsection. "Thanks, Harry. I know this is a bomb."

Drawing back, he held her shoulders at arms' length. "Insane fucking bomb. But Hermione, no matter how many servants you have, how many Malfoy spawn you have to produce, or how powerful your little mysterious order is… you'll be my friend first."

His sentimental words spurred forth a fresh stinging of tears, and as she wiped at her eyes with a nod, there was a whoosh behind her as the Floo flared to life.

Startled, she leapt back, blinking at Harry. "Malfoy's coming over. We have to go through the contract."

Harry stood firm, his expression hardening as he folded his arms across his front and not-so-subtly turned himself towards the fireplace grate.

Clad in a simple Oxford and trousers—the most casual she had seen him since all of this had begun—Malfoy stepped from the Floo, his expression unreadable as he took in first Harry's protective stance and then Hermione—and she suspected her own face was red and blotchy.

With a quick, noncommittal, "Potter," he strode forward, chin held high as he approached her, drawing a shrunken scroll from his pocket and enlarging it. "We need to go through this."

Forcing a nod, she cast a glance at Harry, whose eyes were narrowed and focused tightly on the side of Malfoy's head.

"Right," she mused, accepting the scroll. "Harry, we'll talk later, okay?"

But Harry didn't respond but to take a step closer to Malfoy, who stiffened at the threat on Harry's face even as he didn't leave Hermione's side. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, he actually angled himself between them.

"Do you need something, Potter? I imagine Granger's already told you everything there is to know," Malfoy said, although his tone was lacking the malice she might have expected.

"I need," Harry ground out, his jaw clenched, "to know that you aren't forcing Hermione into some convoluted arrangement for your own benefit." After a long moment, he released a breath and added, "And I need to know you aren't going to treat her as some pawn in your ascent to power. Because she deserves better than this for her life."

"Harry—" Hermione bit out, a flush creeping into her face, but Malfoy's stare snapped to hers for a moment.

"Firstly, Potter," he said, turning back to Harry, "Granger approached me of her own volition, fully aware of the situation. She has had numerous opportunities to change her mind, and given the contract isn't finalised, she can still walk away this very minute."

He paused, and when Hermione didn't say anything, he went on. "The fact that you even suggest I'll treat her as a pawn tells me you don't understand the bonds between the Lunae Ortus and his Lunae Amor, but for the sake of time, I'll simply say no, she won't be a pawn. If anything, she will have as much or more control over the situation than I will. And thirdly… you're right." He offered a simple shrug. "She does deserve better than being chained to me for the rest of her life. But Granger and I have a common goal, and we both realize the importance of the matter at hand—and this is all larger than any one person."

For a brief, fleeting instant, Hermione wondered when Malfoy had become so diplomatic—so _regal_. Even in his stance, he emanated a quiet strength she had caught only glimpses of in their previous meetings.

Opting to keep silent as the two men stared one another down, a quick breath of relief chased from her lungs when Harry nodded, stepping back. "Fine. But believe me, Malfoy, if you so much as hurt her—"

"I cannot," Malfoy interrupted, "hurt my Lunae Amor."

His words shot a chill down Hermione's spine, and for a brief instant, his grey eyes met hers with a hint of warmth she'd never seen.

Then he went on. "Physically, at least. I can't promise I won't upset her as we learn to work together."

With a gentle snicker, Hermione interjected, "I'm sure that will be mutual."

Eyes flickering between the two of them, Harry dropped his arms and slid his hands into his pockets with a nod. "Fine. Hermione, I'll see you soon." He activated the Floo and was gone.

Malfoy's quiet snort of derision broke the tension that remained as he peered around her flat. "What sort of disaster happened here?"

Scowling, Hermione paced towards the kitchen. "I'm moving, remember?"

"I know," he mused, rolling his eyes. "I'm only kidding. Potter seems… hostile."

With a sigh, Hermione reached for her chair only for Malfoy to beat her to it, idly drawing it away from the table as if it were a natural reaction. Startled, she eyed him for a moment before taking the seat. When he stared at her, lifting one brow, she said, "Are you surprised? I'd only just told him about all of this."

Malfoy barked a laugh as he slipped smoothly into the chair across from her. "Then no, I don't suppose I am surprised." Glancing around, he added, "It looks as if you're nearly set to go."

"Almost," she affirmed with a nod. If they could manage to keep things amenable for finalizing the contract, it would be best for them both. "Later today or tomorrow I will be able to bring my things over."

"I'll have the elves—" Malfoy began, but froze partway. "I mean, _I_ will come over and transport your boxes—"

Snickering at his reaction, Hermione shook her head. "I'm not going to throw a fit over your house-elves. But I am perfectly capable of bringing everything over myself."

"Nonsense," he muttered. "That isn't your role."

Choosing to accept his words at face value, she bit down on her tongue with the realisation that she would be a Malfoy soon. And having been a Malfoy his entire life, it was all he knew.

"So," he prompted, duplicating the contract laid out on the table between them so they could both view a copy. "Where are we at since we last spoke? Have you decided which job you're going to keep?" There was a hint of amusement on his face that she also opted to ignore.

"No," she said primly, "I haven't. And I won't need to decide until the bonding, will I?"

"Preferably before," he intoned, marking a note on his copy of the contract. "There will be a lot to do in order to prepare."

"Then I will keep my job at the Ministry," she mused, "and leave Flourish and Blotts."

"You do realize your involvement at the Ministry is sort of a direct contradiction to everything the Nocturnus Order stands for, right? It was created long before organized government as we know it now, in an effort to establish order." He looked bored as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest. "Besides, you'll have daytime meetings to attend."

"Fine. I'll keep my part-time job at Flourish and Blotts."

Rationally, she understood it wasn't about taking away her ability to work so much as it was managing her time and the image they presented as a unified front, but there was something about not letting Malfoy take _everything_ from her that had her digging in her heels.

Leaning forward again, Malfoy said, "I hope they're flexible with your schedule, then. Because we'll have evening functions, travel out of country, and other things that will inevitably come up."

Hermione scowled. "I will be sure they're aware."

Staring at the table for a long moment, Malfoy tapped an irritating rhythm with his fingertips that made her want to snap at him. But she drew in a long breath instead, until he said, "Were you able to go through some of the materials I sent over?"

"Yes," Hermione said with a nod. Academia was comfortable territory. "It's all quite fascinating, isn't it? The way everything originated and how it's progressed."

"It is," he agreed. "And I don't imagine you found any of that in your research beforehand."

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at him. "Would you like something to drink?"

He blinked at the offer. "Water would be good."

Hermione filled a carafe from the tap, silently daring him to complain as she delivered two glasses. But he simply poured himself one and took a long sip before turning the page in the contract.

As Hermione settled back into her own seat, she sighed. "Why were you so anxious to leave the Manor? I can't imagine my flat is your idea of a proper place to hold a meeting."

Malfoy rolled his eyes before dropping his head back over his chair. The word he spoke was drawn out and full of irritation. "_Hugo_." After another sip of his water he went on, "You'll meet Hugo, but only because he's on the council and I can't stop you. He won't stop prattling about the most inane things imaginable, and his _attitude_."

His melodrama made her titter, and unable to stop herself, she quipped, "He sounds like you."

Scowling, he responded, "That's the problem. He's me if I hadn't fought in a war. He told me not to select you as my Lunae Amor because your blood will sully the Malfoy line. Just so you're aware what sort of a person he is."

"That isn't entirely surprising," Hermione mused, "and in fact, I'd be shocked if he's the only one that feels that way."

He gave her a hard look. "And now he won't stop going on about taking me out for a stag do. Which is the least of my concerns right now."

Despite his irritable countenance, Hermione couldn't stop the mirth that escaped her before she could clap a hand over her mouth. "You should," she offered with a grin. "Unwind a little. Sounds like Hugo's just trying to look out for his Lunae Ortus."

"Trust me," Malfoy muttered darkly, "the only person Hugo's looking out for is himself."

Given the intensity of the situation and everything that had been going on lately, Hermione found herself giggling at the thought of him going out for a casual evening and celebrating his impending nuptials. Between the serious circumstances around the selection process, and now the finalizing of the contract, it felt so banal and ordinary to imagine Malfoy sloshed on whisky at the club.

When he lifted a pale brow, she only repeated, "You should. Go out."

It was also the first conversation the pair of them had engaged in that hadn't been about details regarding the marriage. So when he flashed her a weak attempt at a smile, it set her off again.

"You're off your bloody rocker," he said, dragging a hand down his face. "I'll consider it. Blaise and Theo have been on my case to go out as well. Like this is just any old wedding. I never asked for a stag, nor do I want one."

For an instant, discussing such a topic, and with the reference to his old mates from school, it felt like just any other day—except for the fact that Draco Malfoy was in her kitchen.

"Then you should do a hen thing," he said, waving a hand. "Although maybe we should agree to no strippers. The _Prophet_ would have a field day. And I'm sure the guards will feel the need to go along, so that might be awkward..."

"I don't want a hen party," Hermione mused, interrupting his aimless meandering. "I don't have many female friends, and I certainly wouldn't want any strippers there."

Rolling his eyes, he scanned the contract once more. "I'll get you some bloody friends. You're about to become one of the most influential women in the entire wizarding world."

"And by _friends_, of course, you mean—"

"Sycophants," he continued, a wry grin spreading across his face.

"Right. I'll pass."

Malfoy offered her a grimace. "If I have to have one, you do too."

"That isn't in the contract."

A trace of a smirk lingered on his face. "I'll write it in. Don't think I won't."

As a laugh bubbled past her lips, she couldn't stop herself from grinning at him. There was a moment, before his smile faded away, when things felt almost comfortable between them. Then Hermione was reminded of the fact that he'd treated her like the dirt beneath his feet for years—and she was set to marry him within a matter of weeks. The smile fell, sour, from her face. He glanced back to the contract.

"Was there anything else we needed to finalise?" Lifting her brows, she stared at him expectantly. "I've got to finish packing."

"Right," he muttered, sweeping a hand through his hair. "I guess there's the matter of your family—Muggles won't be able to cross through the wards at the bonding ceremony, so they'll have to—"

"You don't need to worry about my parents," Hermione interjected, feeling the old despair clutch at her chest as colour graced her cheeks. "They're in Australia. They won't need to come to the ceremony."

There was something like curiosity on Malfoy's face. "I thought you'd fight me on that for sure—demand I fly them out or something, which of course, if it were any other wedding I would—"

As evenly as she could manage, she said, "They don't remember me. I altered their memories during the war so they wouldn't be targeted as a way to get to me."

Malfoy fell silent, lips parted as his cool stare met hers. "They don't—" He made a face. "They don't remember you _at all_?"

"Not at all."

Looking awkward, he shifted in his seat. "That doesn't sound right. Have you consulted with Healers?"

"Both here and abroad," she said, her tone quiet. "I wasn't certain at the time, and for years I held hope, but there's nothing to be done." Releasing a long breath, she added, "I prefer if we don't speak of it, if you don't mind."

Thick tension hung between them, as evident as the tightness in his shoulders as he breathed, "Fuck, Granger." Shaking his head slowly, he added, "Do you want me to look into it—"

"No," she whispered. "I've looked… and looked."

Something flickered in his stare—she couldn't stand the thought that it might have been pity—until finally he nodded. "Fine." He skimmed the rest of the contract before turning to face her. "Was there anything else you thought of that you'd like to add? And keep in mind this isn't set in stone. Either of us can bring something up once the marriage is in place, and as long as we both agree it'll be accepted. This is just a means of creating a preliminary agreement. Since this isn't a conventional marriage, we are foregoing the dowry… but now would be the chance to name a bride price."

Huffing a breath, Hermione wished the conversation would steer clear of family. "I don't have a bride price… and if you would have required a dowry, I probably wouldn't be able to pay it."

Chewing his tongue thoughtfully, Malfoy leaned in. "It doesn't make a difference to me. My mother and I are willing to offer you a tidy sum. You'll have access to the Malfoy vaults soon enough, and… Granger, you could ensure your parents never want for anything the rest of their lives."

Staring back at him, her mouth felt dry as she said, "I haven't done any of this for your money."

"Think about it." Leaning back, he gave the impression that the time for sensitivity was over. "There _is_ one last thing, and I know you're going to say no without consideration. It's unorthodox, the way I've Ascended after two generations without a Lunae. And obviously you know the situation with Death Eaters after the war—" Grimacing, he carded a hand through his hair. "I'm going to need to tell my father."

"I see," Hermione replied, "and does that require my presence?"

He tapped the tip of his quill on the table as he stared at the contract for a long moment. Finally, he released a sigh. "Yes. I'm afraid it should."

"Very well." Forcing a smile, she added, "Let me know when. I hear Azkaban is nice this time of year."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you all so much for reading! I really hope you're enjoying the story. I just wanted to make a quick mention on the update schedule, since a few people have commented. As of now, the story is set to update on Mondays for two reasons. The first being that the story isn't yet complete, and I'd rather post weekly than every 4-5 days and run out of content, and then have _nothing_ to share. And secondly, I have three other people helping me with this story, and it's important to me to respect their time as well :) Once the story is completed, or at least further along, I'll look to increase the pace. I hope that makes sense!

Alpha love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347; beta hugs to ravenslight!


	6. Chapter 6

The door into Granger's quarters was ajar; Draco knocked, regardless, then edged into her sitting area. Granger stood with her back towards him, fidgeting with a long curl as she stared around the furnished room.

"Getting on alright?" he asked, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets.

If he startled her with his presence, she hid it well. "Just deciding on where I'll put a few things. The elves took it upon themselves to unpack my clothing and books."

Draco stepped forward to stand alongside her. "They do that." Glancing around, he added, "Feel free to reorganise as you like. This is your space now."

Granger had moved in the evening before, and Draco had opted to give her space to get settled in. He had offered to show her around the rest of the Manor, but he didn't want to push when she wasn't accustomed to such a large space. Her quarters were next door to his, but he'd had the adjoining door sealed shut in case she wasn't comfortable with such direct access.

He hadn't wanted to open the can of worms regarding procreation because technically, that wouldn't be a rush, even if it was a part of the contract. They had more important issues to deal with first.

"I might." Her head fell to the side in a thoughtful tilt. "Although I do quite like the way everything is arranged now."

"My mother will be pleased. She decorated this room herself."

A trace of surprise flickered across Granger's expression. "I haven't seen your mother yet."

Ducking his head into a nod, he murmured, "She is hoping we'll join her for tea this afternoon; I believe she thought you might prefer the time and space to get your things in order as you like them."

"I appreciate that." Her chocolate stare landed on his for a moment. "Your room is through there?"

Following her gaze, Draco nodded again. "My living quarters adjoin with yours. But there is no connection between the bedrooms or the bathrooms."

A dull hint of colour swelled in her cheeks. "This is all very extravagant. Growing up, my family was well off by usual standards. But this…"

Swallowing, Draco felt uncomfortable, recalling what she had shared about her parents.

Pressing her lips into a somewhat forced smile, she finished her own thought. "I suppose it's a different level of wealth than I've experienced."

Attempting to infuse some of the casual ease from the other day into the stilted conversation, Draco mused, "And it'll all be yours."

But Granger only frowned. "Of course it won't be mine. As I said before, I haven't done any of this because I wanted your money."

"Call it a fortunate side effect, then," Draco said, making to retreat to his own quarters. Perhaps they would do the tour later.

Her lips curved into a smile, though, and some of the tension dropped from her countenance. "I suppose I can do that. I'll have to get used to it, right?" The question felt rhetorical, and he offered her a smirk. "When are we to meet your mother?"

"Two."

Peering at her wristwatch, Granger nodded. "Maybe we should do the tour beforehand."

Adjusting his tie, Draco mused, "Very well."

* * *

Draco paced forward to press a kiss to each of his mother's cheeks before dropping back alongside Granger with a gentle hand to her lower back. "Mother, please meet Hermione Granger. Properly."

A thoughtful expression sat on Granger's face. "Mrs Malfoy. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said, stepping forward with her warmest attempt at a smile. "The pleasure is mine. And please—call me Narcissa. After all, you will be family in… what is it, two weeks now?"

"Two weeks," Draco echoed; the words clanged awkwardly in the space between the three of them. "Technically, twelve days."

Between the preparations for the open call, the meetings with Granger that had followed, and now her presence in the Manor, it was difficult to believe Draco's Ascension had already been more than two weeks ago.

It was also both remarkable and discomforting how quickly everything was happening.

Drawing out Granger's seat, even as she fired him a look, Draco called for Podski to prepare the tea. As the elf popped into the room, elation crossed his face at the sight of Granger, and she smiled warmly back at him as she took her seat.

The three of them waited in silence while Podski prepared the tea with a practiced efficiency, and Draco found his mother's stare on him.

"Have you shown Miss Granger around the Manor?" she asked, folding her hands carefully in her lap.

His mother had been anxious about the idea ever since he had announced she would be his Lunae Amor—Merlin knew Granger's earliest experience in their home had been volatile, to say the least. He nodded. "I have—parts, at least."

It would take days to show her every minute detail.

"As expected," Granger said as she accepted her cup of tea from Podski with a gracious nod, "my favourite room was the library. I'm only concerned I won't be able to find it on my own—the Manor is quite the labyrinth, isn't it?"

Draco smirked. "You'll be there often enough, I'm sure."

His mother offered the pair of them a demure smile. "In fact, Miss Granger, Malfoy Manor was not always so large or elaborate. Over the years, the grounds were annexed and the house expanded. The earliest Malfoy ancestors in England were… paranoid. There are many hidden rooms and pathways—Merlin knows if we even know of them all."

Eyes lit with intrigue, Granger turned to him. "Perhaps I'll go exploring."

"Of course," Narcissa added hastily, "there are also corridors and rooms you'll want to avoid. In many areas of the Manor, dark curses linger."

Her expression flashed, but Draco cut in before she could speak. "What she means is, over the years, traces of magic have built up. It's only important to exercise caution in areas unknown."

Granger relaxed a little, even though her face remained tight.

"I'll take you exploring," Draco offered, uncertain why the words left his mouth when she lifted a brow. "If you want."

But she gave a prim nod and took a sip of her tea. "That sounds nice."

At his low snicker, her lips twitched. Despite anything else, Granger was trying—and he knew, at times, she would be ready to hex him just as soon as trust him. But they would need to work together. She understood as well as he did what was at stake, and while his world had flipped on its end in preparation of the bonding ceremony, on the continent the news only grew more chaotic by the day.

The situation was unorthodox, but they would need to work on it. And just maybe, they might accomplish something.

* * *

"Hermione, is it?"

The first thing she noticed as she spun on the spot, eyes tightening on instinct, was that her name was drawled in accented English—Scandinavian, perhaps—and the second was that the possessor of the voice was remarkably attractive.

With rich, chocolate brown hair, and brilliant green eyes, the man before her eyed her as if he had a secret—about her. The square cut of his jaw twitched with amusement as his gaze swept the length of her before he reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips.

His head ducked into a slight bow as he dropped her hand. "My dear Lunae Amor. My name is—"

"Hugo," she commented dryly, retracting her hand. "I've heard about you."

Full lips pulled into a taunting smirk. "Is that true?" He dropped a shoulder into the wall of the corridor, leaning lazily between two massive portraits. "All good, I hope."

Allowing a soft smile to linger on her own lips, Hermione quipped, "I'm afraid I can't lie."

Far from offended, Hugo snickered. "The Lunae has an interesting sense of humour, does he not? My name is Hugo Bergen—Treasurer to the Council of the Nocturnus Order."

Fixing him with a tight stare, Hermione nodded. "Indeed."

Dropping some of the pretense, Hugo chuckled. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you."

"Even with my blood?" Her head dropped to the side with a tilt as she held his stare. "Or, perhaps, in spite of it."

She wasn't willing to let a pretentious worm like Hugo Bergen make her feel less than—she had been through too many years of prejudice for something like that to still matter. Especially not when she was about to wed his precious Lunae Ortus.

But he only smiled at her once more. "My opinions on blood matter naught here. You are to be the Lunae Amor—which means I will defend you with my life, should it be required of me. Much as I would for our Lunae."

Hermione blinked at him, startled at the overt statement of loyalty, before schooling her expression. "Then I suppose, Hugo Bergen, I see no reason why the two of us shouldn't get along."

"Except," Hugo retorted, brandishing a single finger, "for the fact that I'm told you disagreed with my suggestion of taking Draco out for a stag night prior to the bonding ceremony."

A surprised laugh burst from her lips; he was the first of the Nocturnus whom she'd heard refer to Malfoy as Draco rather than some variation of his formal title. "Is that what he told you? I encouraged it." Shaking her head, she added, "In fact, I insist. Drag him out if you must."

"You," he mused, lips quirking with humour once more, "are trouble. I see now why he was so vehement in selecting you as his Amor."

Not entirely certain what that was supposed to mean, she felt colour suffuse her cheeks. She blinked, out of sorts and startled, as Malfoy sidled up alongside.

"I can't say I care for the thought of you two skulking in the corridor," he said by way of greeting, though his stance was relaxed. "But I suppose introductions are no longer in order."

"No, Lunae," Hugo drawled, "we've become acquainted. And Hermione tells me she supports the idea of you going out after all."

Malfoy scowled. "I'm busy."

Hugo's eyes flashed. "Not that busy, surely."

Snickering, the blond glanced away for a moment before firing Hermione a look. "I told her I'd do a stag if she does a hen."

"That can be arranged," Hugo responded with a widening grin. "Leave it all to me."

Before either Hermione or Malfoy could say anything more, Hugo bustled off in the opposite direction. Gaping slightly, Hermione only shook her head. Malfoy lifted a brow, a frown on his lips as he turned towards her. "So that's Hugo."

"He's…" She swallowed, forcing a grimace. "Interesting."

Malfoy chuckled. "That's one word for it."

* * *

Turning the corridor towards the centrally located kitchens in the Manor, Draco released a sigh when he noticed Hugo walking with Theo and Blaise, the three of them making their way towards the kitchens ahead of him.

For a fleeting instant, he debated making a run for it, but he knew it would only make matters worse. His friends—and Hugo, who had yet to earn the designation—were convinced Draco needed to celebrate his last days of being single. Despite that his bride would be less of a wife and more of an adviser, and that Draco had the future of countries on his mind more so than the idea of getting sloshed on too much cheap whisky.

Beyond that, it had been a long time since he had spent time with his old friends, and with the way he had felt so frazzled with responsibilities ever since the Ascension, maybe it would be nice to escape for a while.

He found Granger already in the kitchens—she had taken to preparing her own snacks and sometimes meals on evenings when they hadn't planned for a formal dinner with Narcissa. It was something he couldn't begrudge her when she hadn't fussed over many of the things he'd expected, house-elves included. She appeared to be making casual conversation with Blaise and Theo, a coy smile on her face.

The woman would be the death of him—she was the most vocal about his need to go out for a stag night, second only to Hugo.

Which only meant he would make her hen night a pain in the arse.

As she noticed him, popping a grape between her lips, she paced forward. "I've been hearing all about your evening."

"Great," Draco muttered, helping himself to a slice of cheese from the plate she'd prepared. "I suppose it's going to be a wonderful time."

"It is," Theo retorted, folding his arms across his chest.

"It's supposed to be wonderful," Blaise interjected, "and you haven't given us proper time to plan, of course, but Hugo's got something sorted."

Hugo merely lifted his brows in a taunt; Draco was of half a mind to let the man go and find a new treasurer. But it would most likely annoy Hugo's father, and Elias Bergen was a genius in strategy and incredibly well connected. Draco had a feeling he would need him.

Relenting, his shoulders sunk as he leaned forward on the expansive island, picking at the snacks Granger had selected for herself. "So when are we supposedly leaving?"

"Twenty minutes," Hugo announced, then strode from the room.

Granger seemed in a better mood than he'd seen her since she moved into the Manor—some of the tension in her stance was beginning to dissolve, and even with his old Slytherin mates, she wore a smile. "You'll have fun; I'm sure of it."

"You," Draco breathed, quietly so only she could hear, "are going to regret encouraging this."

Lips twitching, she flashed him a stare. "Come on," she whispered, "you're about to tie yourself to me for the rest of your life in a little over a week."

Lifting a brow, he replied, "Good point."

When he looked back up, there was something unsettling in Blaise and Theo's faces as they exchanged a look.

"If you two are done canoodling," Theo stated, and Draco felt colour infuse his cheeks as he stood upright again, "you need to get ready."

Scowling, he folded his arms. "There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing now."

Granger snickered; Theo and Blaise shared another look. "Fine," Blaise drawled. "Then let's go. It'll take ten minutes to walk to the bloody Apparition point in this place."

As she took a bite out of a slice of cucumber, Granger smiled. There was an irritating sparkle to her eyes as she said, "Have fun!"

Draco decided she was enjoying this altogether too much; with a frown, he skulked along after his mates, attempting to summon hope the night wouldn't be a complete drunken mess.

* * *

Hermione glanced up from her book at a distant noise; rubbing her eyes, she checked her watch. It was shortly past midnight. A loud thud sounded beyond the wall of her private quarters, and she set aside the book, startled.

"Malfoy?"

There was a heavy silence, during which she sat poised and alert, tuned in to listen for any further disturbances. The doorknob of the door that separated her sitting room from his fiddled awkwardly before the door swung open; Malfoy's face appeared in the gap, his eyes wide.

"Granger. Hi." He squinted at her for a moment; his hair was a bit disheveled, his tie askew as he dragged a hand down his face. "You're still awake."

Brandishing the book, she offered a thin smile. "Not for much longer, I don't think."

Malfoy snorted and pushed through the door. "What are you reading?" Uninvited, he took up the seat at the other end of the couch, peering closer at the book.

"I borrowed a few selections from the Manor's library, I hope you don't mind," she managed, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth.

Setting the book on the coffee table, he shook his head as he stifled a wide yawn. "That's what they're there for. I know better than to ask that you not damage the books." Barking out a laugh at the look on her face, he leaned back, interlocking his fingers behind his head.

"How was your stag party?" Her lips pulled into a teasing smile as he grimaced. "I thought you'd be out until the small hours of the night."

"If those other three had their way, I would have been." He shook his head, sweeping his fringe back. "It was fine—admittedly, more fun than I expected. But having three guards follow you around all night sort of puts a damper on things."

"They're always around, aren't they?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Malfoy stared at the far wall for a long moment. "The old Order was very powerful and outspoken. This, now… I'm told this is a shadow of the way things once were. In turn, they developed a lot of powerful, ancient enemies. Things happened back then that were never chronicled."

A shiver crept down her spine at the look in his eye when he glanced her way with a flippant shrug, belying the tension his words had incited. Trailing his fingers along the cover of the book she'd been reading, he added, "I wouldn't be the first Lunae Ortus to be assassinated. The Nocturnus guards take their oaths seriously. Of course…" He trailed off, and Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry. "It feels odd—to have stepped into the top position of an Order more ancient than I can even comprehend. Some of the advisers on the council remember the rule of my great-grandfather. There are so many layers of information beneath the surface, and there are things I'll never know. I feel as if I'm constantly second-guessing whether I've made the right decisions."

"It's astonishing," Hermione contributed lamely, her voice soft. "The depth of it all." A frisson of unease lingered beneath the surface of her skin. "You don't think it's still like that, do you? The way things were back then."

Malfoy shook his head. "With Avance?" He gave a low snort. "No. I don't think Avance knows what they're in for if they don't step down."

Even though his words were placating, Hermione couldn't keep the chill from settling into her bones. "I suppose not."

"Who knows, really, though," he murmured, a teasing smirk lingering on his lips as she stared into the depths of his eyes. "Dig deep enough… you never know what you might find hiding in the dark."

A harsh breath chased from her lips.

Rising to his feet, Malfoy cracked a grin. "I'll let you sleep. Have a nice night, Granger."

As she watched him retreat into his own quarters, her heart racing anxiously in her chest, she wondered whether sleep would come while the last of his words settled into a pit in her stomach.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you so, so much for reading, and for the lovely reception to this little story so far! We're still just digging into things, and there's plenty to come! I'm hopeful you enjoyed the chapter!

Pre-reader squad hype to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight!


	7. Chapter 7

Draco spread his marmalade meticulously into the corners of his slice of toast as he heard the shuffling that marked Granger's entrance into the kitchen. He often chose to eat his morning meal in the small breakfast nook overlooking the greenhouses, and he took a bite of his toast when Granger dropped into the seat across from him.

"You walk like an elephant," he quipped, taking a sip of coffee. Ordinarily, he didn't indulge in the caffeinated beverage, but it had been a late night. "And you slouch."

"Good morning to you, too," Granger grumbled with a frown etched on her face. She selected a slice of buttered rye from the top of the stack and began spreading it with blueberry preserves.

With delicate caution, he said, "I'm only pointing it out."

"And I suppose," she said, dragging the syllables out, "that simply won't do."

In hindsight, perhaps a negative remark wasn't the best way to start off the day. He hadn't been strictly drunk the night before but partially so, and he remembered them having an interesting conversation after he'd returned to the Manor, leaving Hugo, Blaise, and Theo to their joint devices.

"However you choose to carry yourself," he asserted in a drawl, "is up to you."

"So this entire conversation is irrelevant," she surmised, eyes narrowing.

Draco blew out a breath, leaning back in his seat. "Exactly."

A thick, painful silence fell over the room as they both picked at their toast, and Granger poured herself a tall glass of lemon water from the carafe at the centre of the table.

Finishing the last bite of his crust, he interlocked his hands on the table. "We're to meet with the council at eleven. The revised draft of the contract is completed."

Granger's eyes snapped up to meet his. "Fine."

"And I guess," he went on, making an effort to keep to more polite conversation, "this will be your first time meeting most of the council." When she merely chewed her toast with narrowed eyes, he sighed. "Elias Bergen is our chief adviser. He's Hugo's father, and therefore, the reason we put up with Hugo."

Her lips twitched. "I don't think Hugo's so bad."

Draco rolled his eyes. "He's a pretentious snob." At Granger's leading stare, he sniffed. "I am _not_ that bad."

"You _were_," she clarified, finally offering her full attention with the jab. "Okay, so Elias Bergen—chief adviser."

"Oro is the council scribe," Draco went on. "Hugo is, as you already know, the treasurer. There's the high mage, Glenneth, and Dagomir is the Head of the Nocturnus Guard, who also acts as war strategist."

Granger's jaw tightened. "I suppose it all makes sense."

"Most of the roles have passed down through the banner houses. Which means Hugo might likely wind up as chief adviser one day, and the idea of that terrifies me."

"That _is_ terrifying," Granger allowed. "So tell me something—how did the Order originally form? I mean, who decided who was involved and who wasn't? The journals are quite vague."

Wincing, he poured another cup of coffee. "It was incredibly long ago, over a thousand years. I don't even know where the Order started out, but before the Malfoy line brought it into England, Nocturnus existed on the continent for a long time. There is a lot of Nocturnus history steeped in Italy. They were so powerful the Italian magical governing body just left them alone in exchange for protection. Most of the banner houses are from Europe on the continent, but they span across North and South America as well and into Asia and Africa."

"Clearly the Malfoys were involved regardless," Granger intoned.

"The Malfoys have French influence."

"So," she mused, a thoughtful tilt to her head. "The rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—not involved? I was thinking of this last night when Nott was here; he's from an old family, isn't he?"

"The House of Nott is Sacred Twenty-Eight," Draco confirmed. "But not within the realm of Nocturnus. Keep in mind, the Nocturnus Order far predates the documentation of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and its influence doesn't reach far beyond Great Britain." Hesitating for a moment, he added, "There is also a lot of speculation around that specific house, given it was Cantankerus Nott who penned the documents of the Sacred. Some say he only wrote the list so he could include his own house, because they were otherwise excluded from Nocturnus."

"So it supersedes old blood," she stated.

"Granger." Draco shook his head, chuckling. "Don't you get it? Nocturnus supersedes everything. There _isn't_ anything older or more powerful that exists. Or _wasn't_, at some point in time when Nocturnus was particularly relevant. That's why blood doesn't matter—only power."

A full minute passed while his words resonated, hanging in the air between them. He sighed, his voice dropping. "They'll write histories about our rule, Granger, whether good or bad. And the question is… what sort of history will we leave behind?"

Nervous anticipation hovered in the air between them when she met his stare. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

* * *

After a lazy breakfast, Hermione and Malfoy made their way into the Nocturnus Wing of the Manor; he guided her with a gentle touch to her lower back through a heavy door, midnight blue and adorned with the phases of the moon.

"This is the strategy room," he explained quietly. "All council meetings are held here. We're a little early."

A stocky man with thin silver frames and short bristly hair stood in conversation with an ancient-looking man who sported a long beard. Both wore long robes in navy, and Hermione idly wondered whether she should have worn something else. But Malfoy wasn't dressed in his Nocturnus robes either, and both men dropped their heads into a bow upon seeing them.

"Lunae," the stocky man announced, striding forward. "And his Lunae Amor. My name is Elias Bergen—it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure," she echoed, nodding to the men in return. In an odd, startling moment, she realized she took a certain amount of solace in the fact that Malfoy was by her side—and he had been through plenty of these meetings already. Even as her stomach churned with the thought that they were there to officially finalise and sign the marriage contract.

The bearded man stepped forward and into a deep bow.

Malfoy snickered and clapped the man on the shoulder. "This is Glenneth—the high mage."

Glenneth grinned as he rose to his full height again. "Miss Amor, it is an honour to meet you." His voice was quiet and hoarse, and while Hermione nearly had to strain to hear him, there was a geniality in his tone that calmed her nerves. Despite that she didn't truly know the purpose of a high mage.

Another man entered the room soon after—tall and skittish—and he was introduced as Oro Winnam, the court scribe. Then a broad, muscular man with thick facial hair and a heavy brow entered, introducing himself in a thick Eastern European accent as Dagomir, the Head of the Nocturnus Guard. Hermione made a mental note not to cross him.

And as a large clock on the wall chimed the hour, the group of them settled in at a long table made of dark wood with silver embellishments.

Malfoy broke the silence. "It appears Hugo is late. I cannot say I'm surprised."

Elias Bergen clicked his tongue as the rest chuckled appreciatively. But he announced, "Our reason for meeting today is a joyous one: to finalise the contract of marriage between the Lunae Ortus and his future Lunae Amor."

When Malfoy shot her a glance that was more a grimace than anything else, Hermione realised he was as nervous as she. But he turned back to the rest of the room with a hint of a smile. "Joyous, indeed. From my understanding, the tailors will be here this week to fit Hermione for her dress?"

It still sounded remarkably strange to her ears when he called her anything other than Granger.

Surprisingly, it was the high mage who confirmed this detail; in all of the bustle of preparing for her new life and growing accustomed to the Manor, Hermione had spent very little time actually considering the bonding ceremony itself. She knew it wasn't a conventional marriage, and Malfoy had given her a list of Latin phrases to memorise, but beyond that, she didn't know what to expect. The texts he had given her had been frustratingly vague with regards to the Lunae Amor's role.

"The future Lunae Amor will undergo the necessary rituals in the four days leading up to the ceremony," the mage added.

A frisson of nerves chased down her spine at the thought of what these _rituals_ might comprise.

She was spared from thinking on it any further, however, when at that moment the door swung open and Hugo walked through, taking up the last remaining seat at the table as if nothing were wrong. Every set of eyes swung to land on him.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and drawled, "Good of you to join us."

Hugo merely flashed a grin and pulled a partially crushed roll of parchment from his bag; his hair was disheveled, and idly, Hermione wondered how late the stag party had gone after Malfoy had left.

Sliding a copy of the contract in front of her, Malfoy silently read through his own.

Everything was in accordance with the provisions they had discussed before, although some of the technical terminology was challenging. But the line at the very bottom above the line for signatures gave her pause.

_The Lunae Amor shall not engage in any endeavour which may harm the Lunae Ortus._

The next line repeated the sentiment, but in reverse. It was so broad in scope that it caught her off guard. Her eyes tightened as she read through the line three more times, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth in an effort to read between the lines.

"It only means," Malfoy's voice said quietly in her ear; attention caught as it was, she jolted in her seat. "We work together as a team. I can't do anything that will cause you any harm or suffering, and likewise. It's a means of protection—for both of us. Mentally, emotionally, physically."

"And what if we disagree on something?" Hermione asked, keeping her words quiet and between them. "Policy, or a course of action, or something."

"The nature of the Lunae bonds enforce that one of us cannot make such a decision without reaching an accord with the other," he said; his grey eyes were stormy as they met hers. "If we disagree, it's a matter of compromise. I can't go ahead on something without consulting you—and vice versa. Symbiotic, remember?"

The low tone to his words settled into the surface of her skin and chased through her veins as he held her stare; she forced a swallow, mouth dry. "It just comes across as awfully open to misinterpretation."

"Then I suppose," he mused, "we're going to have to trust that we're on the same page."

"We aren't always going to be on the same page," she hissed. "Not for the rest of our lives."

The rest of the council had vacated the table and were making idle chatter along the far wall, as if in an effort to give them privacy.

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, his expression tight and unreadable as he leaned forward in his seat. "Of course we aren't. But we will have to offer one another a certain modicum of respect. If you don't think that's possible, then don't sign the contract."

His words jarred through her, despite the lack of animosity in his tone.

As she stared back, feeling a furrow in her brow and her heart racing in her chest, Hermione considered that this would be the rest of her life. Even if the situation in France came to an end… the bonds would continue. Would a duty fulfilled be enough to push her forward for the rest of her life?

Or would she and Malfoy simply drive one another miserable, to the point where she would come to regret it all?

The scroll of parchment in front of her indicated forever.

And the man at her side, with his hard, imploring stare—she didn't know whether he could be the one she chose.

Uncertainty crossed his face, and he pushed her contract away; with a start, she realised there was a slight tremble in his hand.

"I know it won't always be easy," Malfoy murmured, "and I know, Granger, I never would have been your choice in a million years. But this… this is something we can achieve. I know I treated you like shite in the past, and I don't expect you to forget that. I know I'm not easy to get along with… but despite anything else this marriage stands for, you will be my Lunae Amor. I will treat you the best I can, for the rest of our lives." He swept his hair back through the slight blur that had become her vision. "And I hope you can learn to see it the same way, one day."

For a brief moment, as her breaths chased, harsh, from her lungs, his hand hovered over the table. And then he took hold of her forearm where it sat, giving it a light squeeze. As her eyes fell to the contact, it occurred to Hermione that it was the first time he had actually touched her, beyond the realm of politeness.

This was never even a possibility of what she had dreamed for her life. She had hoped to get her career on track, meet someone and fall in love, and then when she was well and ready, consider things like marriage and a family.

And here she was set to wed in less than a week to someone she didn't even properly know.

But there were bigger things at stake. So much bigger.

She breathed, "Respect. I can do respect."

A slow grin spread across his face, and he belatedly released her arm. "I know you're not scared because you're a Gryffindor," he teased, then his expression sobered. "But if it helps, I'm terrified. By all of this. I don't know how to rule this Order that's been idly waiting around for a new leader. I don't know how we're going to deal with this situation on the continent… there are more things I don't know than things I do know, Granger."

"I don't know much about any of that either," she whispered, swiping at her eye as a tear broke free, "but I know a few things. And between the two of us, maybe we know enough to figure this out."

Malfoy's grey eyes sparkled. "It's enough to hinge a hope on."

Blowing out a shaky breath, Hermione forced herself to draw a long inhale and released it. "Okay. We can do this, yeah?"

A smirk curled his lips. "Yeah."

Offering him a thin smile, she drew the contract back in front of her and picked up an elegant quill. She was relieved there wasn't a quake to her hand as she signed her name; a flare of magic chased down her arm and settled in her chest. Malfoy took the quill, his fingers brushing against hers, and scrawled his own on the next line.

Lastly, Elias Bergen signed as witness; the contract shimmered with a silver glow before he rolled it up and tucked it away.

To her surprise, Dagomir, the gruff-looking Head of the Guard summoned a bottle of champagne and announced a toast.

Despite herself, and all of her deep seated fears, Hermione felt a laugh burst past her lips as she clinked her glass with her soon-to-be husband.

* * *

There was a disturbance in the hallway as Hermione glanced up from her book, one of the old Nocturnus texts Malfoy had provided her. A loud knock sounded on the door into her living quarters directly from the corridor—if it was Malfoy he would have had access through the adjoining door.

She was meant to meet with the mages that afternoon and begin the preparation rituals, but it was too early.

Carefully marking her page, she set the book aside and rose to answer the door. A pair of serious looking guards clad in full Nocturnus uniform stood upright in the doorway. Blinking at them, Hermione shrunk back automatically at their abrasive presence.

"You have mail," one of them bit out, his expression stern. "But you need to come with us."

Her voice came out smaller than intended. "Okay."

The second guard offered a weak attempt at a smile before he turned and knocked on the door to Malfoy's quarters. Idly, Hermione wondered why it took a crew of guards for her to receive mail and decided she ought to speak with Malfoy about her permissions within the Manor. _This_ certainly wouldn't fly—and Merlin forbid she wanted to invite a friend over.

Malfoy swung the door to his sitting room open, his expression stoic; upon seeing her flanked with two guards, his eyes narrowed. But Hermione's attention fell elsewhere.

His hair was wet, as if fresh from a shower, and swept to the side out of his face. He wore only trousers, slung low on his hips, and a towel hung from his hands. She found herself staring at the lean lines of his chest and stomach and forced her gaze elsewhere, colour flushing her cheeks.

"My apologies, Lunae," the guard exclaimed, horrified, as he dropped his head into a bow; Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. "We require your presence—it's a sensitive matter."

Malfoy's expression didn't shift as he offered a nod; for a brief instant, his eyes met hers and his lips twitched with an infinitesimal smirk. "I'll be along in a moment."

He pressed the door shut, and for a terribly awkward and tense minute, Hermione lingered in the hallway outside of his personal quarters with the pair of silent, brawny men. But thankfully Malfoy wasn't long, and when he emerged, his hair was dried but hanging loose and he wore a navy oxford.

Dawdling while the guards paced forward, Hermione fell into step with Malfoy as he took up the spot at her side almost instinctively. Shoulders back, he took care to match her pace even as his face remained blank. "What is this about?"

Almost embarrassed at the thought, she murmured, "All they said was that I've received mail."

The bridge of his nose wrinkled for a moment. "All incoming mail has been screened since the Ascension was announced. Tested for hexes and the like."

"I'd like to know this lot aren't reading my private messages," she grumbled, frowning at the pair of guards several strides ahead of them.

Malfoy's eyes tightened. "It's for your own safety. And I don't know what sort of messages you're receiving that are so private."

"I'm not," she scoffed, "but my mail is my mail."

"Evidently not," he bit out, expression souring, "if you've received something worth their involvement."

The thought sobered her ire as they walked towards the Nocturnus Wing. There was an owlery tower to the south side of the Manor, and Hermione and Malfoy followed the guards towards a desk where a scribe was sitting, discomfort written on his face.

A letter sat on the desk, shielded by a series of protective wards, and Hermione shifted on the spot, glancing at Malfoy as he moved a step closer, his gaze tight on the letter.

"It's a threat, Lunae," one of the guards stated bluntly, folding his arms across his front. "A threat on the future Amor's life."

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach even as it leapt into her throat. She wanted to sneer or roll her eyes with flippancy—but this was all a new world to her, and she didn't know how legitimately she ought to consider such a letter.

Malfoy's hand landed on the small of her back, and she tensed, nearly jumping at the contact. His grey eyes searched hers for a moment before he picked up the letter; it shimmered with protective magic as it touched his fingers. Peering closer, she read the letter in silence beside him, feeling her insides churn.

_Walk or die_. It was the essence of the letter, in so many words.

They would leave her alone if she backed out of the bond and away from the Nocturnus Order. But if she went ahead with it…

Eyes narrowing, she heard a sound of mirth, and it took a moment before she realised it had escaped her own lips. "Doesn't this just mean they feel threatened?"

"That," Malfoy sneered, "is exactly what it means." Turning to his guards, he handed back the letter. "Track this by whatever means possible. I want to know where it originated, who wrote it—I want to know where the bloody _ink_ was purchased. Step up security in advance of the bonding ceremony. If Avance thinks they can threaten my Lunae Amor, they're about to learn a hard lesson."

He clipped the word in a perfect French accent, face flashing with revulsion.

"Very well, Lunae," the guard said, his expression hard. "As you wish."

Malfoy's voice dropped. "Thank you for letting us know—alert me if any more arrive."

As her mind spun in an effort to process the implications of the letter, Hermione allowed herself to be guided from the owlery. Malfoy's shoulders were tense as they walked, and though he dropped his hand, he stayed close by her side. Although she could understand his protectiveness—she'd been feeling a certain amount of the same since everything had been determined—it felt strange all the same, given their past.

"Are you nervous, Granger?" he bit out after a long moment.

Swallowing the fear the letter had incited within her soul, she glanced his way. "I am all the more convinced we need to do this."

"Good," he breathed. His lips curled as he slid his hands into his pockets. "Fucking good. _That_ is why I chose you."

When he glanced her way again, a hint of a smirk was on his lips. And—if she wasn't mistaken—pride shone in his eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for reading! I sincerely hope you're enjoying this story. Currently, it's at 125k with a long way left to go :)

For anyone who might be interested, I'll be posting the first chapter (out of six) of a completely written short Dramione story this Thursday.

And as always, love and hugs to my alphas Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and my beta ravenslight.


	8. Chapter 8

With two days to go until the culmination of the full moon—thirty-six hours, technically—Hermione was starting to wonder when the preparations would end. Handmaidens clad in silver sheaths had bustled at her side, almost ubiquitous, immersing her in herbal baths and scrubbing her until she felt raw. Young mages spoke spells of wisdom and courage in Latin, and despite herself, Hermione could feel the magic of their messages stirring with her own.

Far be it for her to question the methods of a thousand-year-old society, but it felt extreme.

From the window of her living quarters, looking out on the grounds from three stories up, she could see a vast array of tents dotting the sprawling fields of the Malfoy estate. According to Malfoy, they had all been present for his Ascension as well. And in fact, he claimed there would be even more in attendance for the bonding ceremony.

Which did nothing to quell her nerves.

But when she considered the fact that the Nocturnus Order had been adrift without a leader for decades, it made sense that they were keen on celebrating. And a celebration it was sure to be, given the way the elves had been working away. Hermione had frowned and bitten her tongue, deciding she would encourage them to take the holidays that they were so apt at ignoring.

And deep down, she thought it was a good thing she had taken a few weeks off at the bookstore. Between uprooting her life and moving into Malfoy Manor and now the process of preparing for the bonding ceremony, it was one less thing she had to worry about for the time being.

But after the ceremony, and once things settled into what she could only assume would be her new normal, she would return. In the back of her mind, the thought had occurred more than once that she might have to walk away from _both_ jobs, but there was a part of her that wasn't quite ready to give up _every_ aspect of her old life. She had resolved to withhold on any decisions for now.

Begrudgingly, she had accepted the fact that members of the Nocturnus Guard were likely to traipse along and lurk nearby, as they had been prone to doing ever since the threatening letter had arrived two days prior.

She understood Malfoy's concerns—to an extent—but she was fully capable of looking after herself. As evidenced by the fact that she had fought in, and survived, a war. While he claimed he thought Avance to be transparent in their goals, Hermione wasn't certain.

The speed and stealth with which they had infiltrated the French Ministry was alarming, to say the least, and some of the policies Minister Arcand had put forward grew still more troubling.

Startled, Hermione snapped out of her thoughts at a soft knock on the door into her quarters from Malfoy's adjoining sitting room. A pair of handmaidens were preparing her nails—she wasn't sure why they didn't just use magic—but she called for him to enter.

Malfoy's face peered through the doorway, and he lifted a pale brow. "You're decent?" She scoffed in response, and he edged through the door. The maidens hurriedly finished their work and left the room. He sidled towards the couch and looked closer. "Pretty."

Hermione sighed, shifting over to make room. "Are you having to go through all of this too?"

"Some of it," he admitted. "I've never smelled so good in my life."

Snickering, she found herself grateful she wasn't going through this alone.

"All the waxing, plucking, painting, what have you," he went on, waving a hand, "that's all you."

Firing him a scowl, Hermione relaxed into her seat. "By the way, I notice I was never forced into a polite gathering of proper ladies by way of a hen night."

His brows lifted, and he gave her a smirk. "I decided to cut you some slack. I told Hugo I didn't want you going out so close to the ceremony after that threatening letter."

Surprised, she gazed at him. "Well I appreciate that. I can't say I was looking forward to it."

"So," he drawled, eyes sparkling, "it just means you owe me one undisclosed favour."

Hermione frowned. "I knew it." When he cracked a grin, she shook her head, eager to change the subject. "Supposedly the tailors are coming this afternoon."

Malfoy interlocked his hands in his lap, looking uncomfortable. "Right. I've already got my robes, but you'll need your gown."

"In the Muggle world," Hermione began, tentative, in case he were to respond with disdain, "brides order their gowns months in advance. It's a whole big thing to select the perfect one."

He shifted, peering through the window. "Maybe if we'd had more time," he said softly, "I would have taken you to Italy. So you could have had that experience. We'll go, though, another time. There's the most amazing fashion district in the wizarding sector of Milan."

Staring at him, she felt a twist settle in her stomach and a furrow lift into her brow. Mouth dry, she breathed, "That sounds nice."

With a tight-lipped smile, he went on. "One of the old Nocturnus castles is in a remote part of Tuscany, south of Florence. I'd like to go there." His lips twisted to the side as he stared out onto the grounds. "See how the old Lunaes used to live—you know?"

Warmth stung behind her eyes as she nodded. "We should do that. One day—when we're able."

"Yeah," Malfoy muttered. "We'll see some places." With a low chuckle, he added, "Maybe one day we'll go on a proper honeymoon."

Hermione felt colour infuse her face at the flippant remark, and she managed a brief nod. Glancing at him, she felt her face soften. He was a far cry from the petulant boy she had known growing up, and it was evident he wanted to make things work. For all her hesitations and doubts, she did too. One of her biggest fears, through her teenage years and into adulthood, was the idea of ending up trapped in a loveless relationship.

Maybe there was a chance she could grow to care for Malfoy—and if nothing else, they could learn to respect one another and develop a kinship. In time, it was possible.

Merlin knew they would need to learn to work together in order to face the situation at hand.

With a stuttering nod, she whispered, "We could do that."

A sharp rap on the door jolted her upright in her seat, eyes wide. Malfoy rolled his eyes and walked to the door; as Hermione followed, she saw him speaking with a tall, thin man who wore a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee.

"Tailor's here," he quipped, turning back to her with a hint of a smirk curling his lips. "Have fun."

Malfoy ducked through the door, and the man walked inside, eyeing her with a close inspection that made her feel wildly on display. "Hello," she said with a nod, "my name is Hermione Granger."

"The Lunae Amor," the man announced with a flourish as he dropped into a deep bow. "I am Paolo. Come—we have work to do."

Three small ladies flowed into the room after Paolo, clad in matching pale green robes, and began unloading all sorts of equipment that made Hermione lift a brow. With a snap of Paolo's fingers, her sitting room was transformed into a dressing room. And within moments, she was lost in a swirl of activity and great swaths of fabric.

Two hours later, Paolo stepped back, one hand over his mouth as he stared closely, making a full circle around Hermione, who felt at once anxious and exhausted.

The three assistants stood together, speaking quietly in Italian as they gestured and pointed.

Finally Paolo sighed. "It is perfect. You are the night sky brought to life."

Hermione forced a swallow when she was finally allowed to turn towards the full length mirror. The sweetheart bodice sparkled with silver detailing and embellishments like the stars in an endless sky before fading off into the floor length gown, loose and ethereal in a deep midnight blue.

Lifting a hand to the detailing, she felt her eyes sting. "Paolo, thank you. It's wonderful."

"A dress," he mused, smiling, "fit for a queen."

* * *

Draco edged into Granger's room, hands shoved into his pockets. Despite hearing noise through the adjoining door minutes before, she wasn't in her sitting quarters. Closing the door behind him, he leaned back against the frame.

He cleared his throat. "Granger."

After a shuffling sound from within her sleeping quarters, her head poked through the doorframe, wide-eyed. Then she stepped through, shrugging on a cardigan. "What do you need?"

Shrugging, he stared at a spot on the carpet. "I thought maybe we should talk about some things. Ahead of the ceremony."

Eyeing him with a cautious glance, Granger took a seat on her couch and stared at him expectantly.

He huffed a sigh but remained where he stood by the door. "You know," he hedged, feeling dull spots of colour flush his complexion. "It's a little more complicated, given the bonds and the ancient magical order and all that… but it's still a wedding."

Her lips twitched. "Are you getting cold feet, Malfoy?"

"No," he grumbled, scowling at her.

Rolling her eyes, she leaned back in her seat. "Then you're going to have to just spit it out, because I'm not following what this conversation is meant to be about."

Merlin, he was acting like a fucking schoolboy. Clenching his jaw, he bit out, "They're going to expect us to kiss."

Granger continued to stare at him blankly, until her brows lifted on her forehead and she released a mirthful snort. "That's what's got your knickers in a twist?" Draco opened his mouth to fire a retort, but she laughed outright. "I assumed as much. Is that a problem for you?"

Draco sucked on his teeth, wishing he hadn't bothered. "No. I wanted to be sure you wouldn't be uncomfortable over it. But obviously I've been needlessly concerned—"

"You," she gasped, swiping at one eye, "are trying to protect my honour?"

"Fuck," Draco muttered, "forget it."

"No, honestly," Granger went on, failing miserably in an attempt to school her expression into neutrality. "Is this a problem for you? If it is—if you've not kissed a woman—"

"Of course I've bloody kissed women," Draco scoffed, his nose wrinkling. "I'm not twelve." Throwing his hands up, he turned to leave the room. "Never mind. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Malfoy." Her voice was deadpan, and when he turned back, against his better judgement, she wore a frown. "I'm sorry. I appreciate that you were trying to look out for me, and I shouldn't have laughed. I just…" Trailing off, she rubbed at the back of her neck. "I thought you were having a lark. Remember, I originally thought we'd be consummating the marriage tomorrow night as well. So I suppose the idea of a kiss doesn't phase me."

Sighing, he released the tension in his shoulders, walking over to sit at the other end of the couch. "I guess I just feel like we're going about everything in the wrong order. And I didn't want to spring something else on you."

Granger's expression was apologetic as she dropped her chin. "I respect that. Thank you for your consideration." He could feel the heat of her stare on the side of his face as he gazed at the far wall. "You're nervous."

Draco frowned and said, "Of course I'm nervous. I was nervous for the Ascension, and that didn't involve tying myself to someone else for the rest of my life. What if this all goes south and all I've managed to achieve is to drag you down with me?"

Her head fell to the side; her voice was quiet. "Then we go down together. I knew what I was getting into—mostly, anyways. All these herbal baths have been a little excessive." Draco huffed a laugh despite himself. "But no matter what, we're in this together now. And tomorrow… it'll just be a bit more official."

"Right," he drawled, offering her a smirk. "It just means I'm stuck with you."

"You could do worse," she quipped, before flashing him a smile. "Honestly, Draco—it'll be fine."

He breathed, "You say that like you believe it."

Pressing her lips together into a thin line, she stared at him for a long moment; in the tightness around her eyes, and the hesitation on her face, he could see her indecision. Finally she said, "I'm just hoping for the best. Because otherwise I wouldn't know how to deal with any of this."

Sighing, he leaned back against the couch, rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. She kept her quarters almost stifling. Catching the error an instant later, he noticed her gaze flicker to the exposed skin of his left forearm.

A breath hitched in his throat as she stared at the faded, scarred flesh where the remains of his Dark Mark lingered—only for a moment, but long enough. Frowning, he tugged his sleeves back down. In the short time since they'd been on speaking terms, neither of them had brought up the war in any great depth.

"It's fine, you know," she whispered as Draco secured his cuff once more. "It doesn't affect anything anymore. It doesn't mean anything in the context of this."

"But in the context of _this_—" he gestured between them, his voice hoarse "—it means so much."

"It's all over with."

The words hung between them, stagnant and pained, and he glanced at her, chewing on his tongue.

Softly, she went on. "Tomorrow night we're getting married." Releasing a soft giggle, she shook her head. "Can you believe that?"

A chuckle escaped his lips. "Not in a million lifetimes would I have imagined this."

As her mouth twisted to the side, she said, "Me neither."

Silence fell over them, companionable this time, and Draco felt himself relax into the soft cushions of her couch, his eyes fluttering with exhaustion from a hectic few days. And Granger was right—in a little over twenty-four hours, they would be married.

Then she snorted. "If you're really worried about the kissing thing," she began, and when he opened his mouth to retort, she finished, "we could practise."

Moistening his lips, he lifted one brow. "Practise? You're kidding, right?"

Granger gave him a flippant shrug. "Just a suggestion."

Propping one arm up on the back of the couch, he stared at her, his lips twitching. "Careful—I might start to think you actually want that."

"Well," she breathed, looking away, "you're it for me, or so says the magically binding contract. When you aren't being a massive prat, I suppose I can see it."

"See it," he repeated, confused, then retorted, "and I'm quite sure I haven't been a massive prat to you in years."

Her gaze washed over his face. "What the other girls always used to say back at Hogwarts. About your good looks."

His lips pulled into a slow smirk. "Thanks, Granger."

Without warning, she rose and walked towards the door. "But we'll wait." Flashing him a smile, she drew open the door. "It will make the intimacy of our first kiss that much better if it's in front of thousands of strangers."

Barking a laugh, Draco felt a real smile stretch his face as he rose to his feet. "You're weird, Granger."

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. "It'll make life interesting. Now shoo—something about seeing the bride the night before the wedding and all that."

Walking towards the door, he hesitated, staring down at her. Then he ducked in, brushing his lips across the smooth skin of her cheek. Drawing back with a smirk, he mused, "That it will. I'll see you tomorrow beneath the moon, my Lunae Amor."

Her eyes were dark. "Goodnight, Malfoy."

* * *

A thin haze of cloud cover drew shadows on the full moon as it hung high in the sky, nearing its culmination. Nerves tossed in the pit of Hermione's stomach like a ship on cruel tides, and she forced a deep breath.

There was a chill on the air, just enough to ease the warmth racing through her as adrenaline. After the final preparations to accept the Lunae bonds, she had donned her gown, admiring the way the dress clung to her as natural as air, sleek and smooth against her skin. Atop her curls, tied into an delicate twist, sat a silver coronet in an intricate and feminine wreath of flowers and stars, joined around her head by twisting vines.

It was one of the most beautiful pieces of craftsmanship she'd ever seen and light as a feather.

Tears stung her eyes as she gazed out on the grounds, but she blinked them away. The handmaidens had invested a lot of effort into making sure she looked her best, and the last thing she needed was to cry it all away.

Even though she felt hope for the future, it was bittersweet—marrying without her family present. Marrying her childhood enemy.

The Malfoy gardens were decorated for the occasion with stunning arrays of floating candles and fairy lights; flowers clustered along the path she was to walk in arrangements Narcissa herself had gathered.

And the sky above was an endless blanket of stars in the pitch of night.

The clouds shifted and the moon shone, bright and cold, high above; her eyes fluttered shut as it called to something deep within her soul.

Behind her, a young mage whispered a brief blessing in Latin, and when he concluded and hurried away, she squared her shoulders and stepped into the gardens.

A soft, ethereal piece of music played from everywhere all at once. Hermione was aware of the eyes of thousands, but she couldn't force herself to look. Not when every last nerve was tethered to the path she had to walk—when it was all she could do not to run away and never look back.

With each careful step on the cobbled pathway, she drew nearer, until she could see Malfoy, clad in his full Nocturnus regalia, a platinum crown—the match to her own—perched atop his pale hair, sparkling with the cool light of the moon.

His face was stoic—but his eyes never left her.

And when she took her place at his side—where she would spend the rest of her days—his lips twitched and his eyes flickered to meet hers with a hushed, "You look beautiful."

Colour infused her cheeks as she dipped her chin in a gracious nod. "You look…" As she trailed off, assessing him, she swallowed. "Brilliant." Her eyes stung once more. "Regal."

A slow smirk drew across his mouth as his head fell to the side in acknowledgment.

And he did—she had seen glimpses of it, hidden in his mannerisms and his speech. But now, seeing him beneath the moon, quite literally in his element, he was lit from within. His chin held high, shoulders back—every inch of him spoke of royalty.

The intricate crown of twisted silver only added to the image. Something akin to pride settled in her chest to stand at his side—to bear witness to the man he had become.

Malfoy's hand caught hers as it hung between them in the moment when she finally looked upon the crowd. For as far as she could see, people stared at them, fixated, from every direction. For many of them, it would be the first bonding ceremony they had ever witnessed, even those who had grown up steeped in Nocturnus tradition.

At the front was the council, dressed for the occasion, and as she caught Hugo's eye, he offered her a quick wink and a nod. Dagomir, the gruff-looking Head of the Guard, swiped at his eyes. Elias Bergen, expression stoic, stared upon his Lunae Ortus.

Beside Bergen was Narcissa, lit with a demure smile as she gazed upon her son with pride. When her eyes shifted to Hermione, they were veiled.

A breath chased from Hermione's lungs at the sheer magnitude of the crowd as Malfoy's hand closed tighter around her own.

The high mage stepped before them, his expression warm; his beard was plaited and tied with silver ribbon, and Hermione bit her bottom lip on a smile. Malfoy nudged into her side, his mouth twitching.

As Glenneth spoke, Hermione's eyes stung with the emotion welling deep within her, and it was Malfoy's fingers entwined with her own that kept her grounded and focused, his support that kept her balanced.

She nodded, smiled, and laughed through the speech, and when Malfoy flashed her a grin, her heart leapt in her chest.

Something about the dark of the night surrounding them and the enraptured crowd gazing upon them from all sides caused her magic to thrum within her. It danced through her veins with an anxious cadence, and she wondered whether Malfoy was feeling it as well. She could feel the magic jump from his fingertips where his hand held hers.

A tingling settled about her wrist, where the magic narrowed and pulsed as Glenneth swept into Latin, his face alight with joy. At the point where the magic settled, the imprint of a crescent moon arose on her wrist. Malfoy's thumb swept over the spot, and he whispered, "Amor."

With a start, she realized the wrist of his left arm now bore the same crescent shaped marking, and her lips curled with a smile. A swirl of silver chased from the crescent on her wrist towards her opposite hand, snaking and entwining into her ring finger before it reformed as an intricate silver ring of vines entwined with sparkling crescents and stars.

Magic swirled and danced, elation upon the air and in the crowd, and heat settled behind her eyes as moisture pressed forth. Suppressing a grin at the wild and celebratory atmosphere, she swiped at one eye where a tear broke forth and squeezed Malfoy's hand tighter in her own.

The magic, spurred forth by the mage's enchantments, built to a crescendo with the moon high in the sky—and the mage stopped.

A hushed silence fell over the crowd, holding and growing for what felt like an eternity. Silence alone. Hermione could feel nothing but the connection with Malfoy and the vast darkness of the night sky above. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feel of it as the moon and the stars seeped into her being and her soul.

Her eyes snapped open, and in a moment of pure instinct, she recognised the bond that now coursed through her veins, intertwined with her magic and with Malfoy's. Grey eyes met hers and she watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed. She sucked in a sharp breath.

It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever imagined, even as she knew it in every thread of her being. He was hers, and she, his. Symbiotic, partners, and bound. The immeasurable force of it chased the breath from her lungs as she turned to face him.

The high mage stepped back, gesturing with one hand as a grin stretched across his face.

Malfoy's eyes were dark as they met hers, and his lips curled with a smirk. As her heart raced from the wild rhythm of the unfamiliar magic settling in its place, it leapt and shifted in a different sort of way. He muttered, "As good a time as any, right?"

A bright laugh chased from her lips, and she twisted a hand into his collar, adrenaline racing through her as she dragged him close; when his lips met hers, the magic shifted. Time slowed, the racing of her pulse softened, and as he took her face into his hands, she melted into his touch.

His lips were soft and tingled with magic where they pressed against hers; for a brief, teasing moment, his tongue grazed hers and her other hand swept into his hair until her fingers grazed the cool metal of his coronet. Drawing back, she met the warmth in his stare, breathless.

After a singular, drawn out moment, the crowd burst to life and celebration, but their cries and cheers were muted in the ringing of her ears as she gazed upon her Lunae Ortus.

Dragging a thumb across her cheekbones, he dropped his hands. The pulsing of the magic settled and quieted into a smooth calmness in Hermione's soul, and a wry smile pulled to her face. Voice soft, she whispered, "I suppose now we celebrate."

Malfoy gave her a private smile that caused a stutter in her chest as he echoed, "We celebrate."

* * *

**Author's** **Note: **I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was one of my favourites to write. I am so appreciative of all your lovely comments, and you've all made me smile so much! Thanks for reading xoxo

PS Elle Morgan-Black made some GORGEOUS art that reminded me of this chapter, so it's on my tumblr (indreamsink) if you want to see it!

Alpha and beta squad cred to my loves Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight!


	9. Chapter 9

In the days that followed the bonding ceremony, Hermione expected things to feel different. Or at least not the same. The magic within her veins quieted into a gentle pulse, consistent but hidden unless she listened for it.

Despite the way her heart had raced in the heat of the moment when she and Malfoy had kissed, with the bonds fresh in her blood and magic swirling in the air, he remained warm but polite.

And Hermione, insistent on following through with her plans, returned to work at Flourish and Blotts. Malfoy's expression was blank every time she mentioned it, and she knew it was an effort on his part to avoid expressing his thoughts on the matter, but she appreciated it all the same. It was important to her that certain aspects of her life remain as they were before, even though her own quiet doubts lingered in the back of her mind. At times, it was daunting to consider all the ways in which her life had already changed—and would likely continue to do so.

She was now, in every sense of the matter, the Lunae Amor of the Nocturnus Order—Hermione Malfoy. She fidgeted with the twisted silver ring on her fourth finger, forged through the ancient magic of the Lunae bonds. The same magic that now lingered below the surface of her skin.

Malfoy hadn't been around that afternoon before she left for work, but before she could escape, a pair of burly guards approached, reticence in their faces as they offered to escort her to her job. And she hadn't been keen on a row later, so she had acquiesced.

The bookstore was slow, given the Hogwarts school year was still in session and students wouldn't be looking for new books for months. But the handful of customers who did wander through the doors brought a sort of ease to her soul.

A photograph of her own face stared up at her from a stack of copies of the _Prophet_, along with a full article of speculation with regards to the bonding ceremony. The only thing they had managed to get correct was that she was now irreversibly bound to Malfoy and to the Nocturnus Order as a whole. With everything that had been going on, she hadn't had much time to reach out to Harry or Ron, but she intended to make plans to meet with them soon. Harry had already heard from her first-hand, but she could only imagine the situation from anyone else's perspective.

A pair of young women walked into the shop—presumably just a year or two out of Hogwarts—and as Hermione walked forward to greet them, they ducked down the nearest aisle. Shrugging, she returned to the register. But moments later when she looked back up, the girls were blatantly staring at her and whispering to one another.

Uncomfortable, she shifted on her feet, her eyes tightening.

"So it's true, then," one of the girls pronounced, her eyes lingering on Hermione's ring finger.

Sighing, Hermione folded her arms, tucking her hand beneath the other arm. "Can I help you find anything?"

"No." The other girl snorted. "We aren't looking for any books."

Something moved in her periphery and the pair of girls exchanged a glance, eyes wide as they edged back towards the door. One of Hermione's Nocturnus guards had moved forward, and she scowled, separating herself from the man. She most certainly didn't need protection from a pair of gossips.

"Probably best to carry on then," she said, voice apologetic. The girls took off before she could say anything else. When she turned back to the guard, his expression was blank. "I know this is your job, Ben, and the Lunae put you up to it," she began, thinning her lips, "but you can't hover. I still need to be able to do _my _job."

The second guard cracked a grin. "No disrespect," he said in accented English, "but our job is to keep you safe. More important than selling books."

Huffing, Hermione returned to the front counter. She would be having words with Malfoy over his babysitters. The thought jarred through her that technically, she was Malfoy now, too, and she would need to start calling him by his given name at some point.

Especially since he had made an effort once or twice at calling her Hermione.

Merlin, the man was her husband. It still felt strange.

Ever since the bonding ceremony, small magical tasks had felt effortless, as if the capacity of her magical core had been expanded with the bonds, and even non-verbal spells flew forth with ease. In between customers, she had taken to attempting some simple wandless spells in an effort to see how far the increased magical strength went. Malfoy had told her, during one of their first meetings, that he had developed a magical affiliation with the phases of the moon, and she wondered whether her own growing power was something similar.

Attempting to levitate her empty mug from the counter with only her hand—the crescent moon on her wrist sparkled with the attempt—she almost didn't notice another customer walk in.

But when he leaned against the counter and she glanced up, catching a hint of scruffy black hair, she cried out, "Harry!"

Circling around, she pulled him into a hug, ignoring the guards when they stepped forward. But Harry only smiled, dragging a hand through his hair. "You have bodyguards?"

Cracking a wry grin, she said, "It's a long story. But yes. Ben, Vlad—this is my best friend Harry. He won't do me any harm, and we need a few minutes alone to catch up."

Nodding, the guards retreated, though she could still feel their eyes on her from a distance.

"So," Harry prompted, staring at her, "you went through with it."

Her face softened as she offered him a nod. "I meant to owl you more often, but it's been chaos. The bonding ceremony was on the full moon."

Pursing his lips, Harry stared at her. "No invite for your closest friends?"

"It wasn't up to me," she breathed, eyes stinging with moisture. "It was only for the members of the Nocturnus—"

"I'm just teasing," Harry interrupted, even as his expression fell serious. "I realize that there are certain things I won't understand and won't know about your life now. I just… Merlin, I need to know Malfoy isn't going to do you wrong."

"He isn't." It was surprising, how easily the words flowed from her lips—and disarming how readily she believed them. "No matter what's happened in the past between us… he's really grown up. And our goals now are the same. With the full power from the Lunae bonds we can begin to deal with the issues in France."

Harry nodded slowly, his face pulling into a smile. "I'm glad to hear that—and you're practically sparkling."

Casting a surreptitious glance at herself, she managed a smile in return. "That's probably related to the magic of the bonds. Everything in my life is quite sparkly these days."

"Not to mention the ring," he teased, peering closer at the curled metal, dotted with stars. "Unconventional, but it suits you."

She huffed a laugh, staring at him for a long moment. "Created with magic, you know." They both fell silent until she spoke again. "Thanks, Harry. For coming to see me—for your support. I can't imagine this has all been easy to accept."

"Ron went nuts when he heard you were marrying Malfoy." With a grimace, Harry flipped through a book on the counter as if fidgeting. "He thinks you've fallen for some trick of Malfoy's or something, but I guess I can understand why this is so important to you. Saving centaurs and werewolves and everything… always was sort of your thing."

"Yeah." Her heart clenched in her chest as she held Harry's eyes. "And Malfoy… maybe it won't be so bad after all."

"Hopefully not," Harry quipped, "because you're stuck with him now."

The idea of it didn't frighten her as much as it had at the start, though she knew they had a long way to go before they would truly feel comfortable with one another. And she didn't know if it would ever be the sort of relationship she would have chosen for herself, had certain occurrences not forced her hand. Her eyes stung once more at the thought, and she blinked away the sudden push of tears.

"Merlin, Hermione, I didn't mean to upset you," Harry said, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"It's okay," she whispered. Pressing her lips into a smile, she added, "He could be worse." Voice dropping, she finished with, "I could have done worse. With Malfoy… in this order… I'll always have a purpose, you know? It was never my dream to push out a bunch of kids and have no identity of my own."

They both knew she was referring to the almost fling with Ron after the war that had never made it off the ground.

"Even if…" she went on, sucking in a breath. "Even if Malfoy has some rough edges—so do I. And we can work on them together."

Harry wore a resigned smile when she finished talking, and his green eyes sparkled behind his glasses. "I'm proud of you, Hermione. For always doing what you know is right, even if it means putting yourself second."

She gave a watery snort. "Another thing I learned from you, I guess."

"I guess so." Casting an idle glance around the empty shop, he teased, "I can't believe you're still working here. Just like you to step into the ruling seat of an ancient magical society and insist upon keeping your day job."

Hermione felt a flicker of truth behind his words and her face faltered. "I suppose it might not work out. The bodyguards and all—Malfoy doesn't like it. But..." Trailing off, she made a face.

"But you needed something to stay the same." A soft, understanding smile crossed his face.

Even so, Hermione frowned. "I never know if I'm doing the right thing anymore."

"Trust your intuition. It hasn't steered you wrong—_often_." The words coaxed a smile from her at last. Pulling her into another brief hug, he added, "I have to get back to work—but I had to see you for myself. To be sure you were still doing alright with all this."

"I am."

With a last grin, he said, "I can see that. Better than I thought." Clapping a hand to her shoulder, he turned to leave. "Talk soon, yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

As Harry walked away, he turned and threw over his shoulder, "Malfoy."

A bright laugh burst from her lips as she swiped at the tears that finally broke from the corners of her eyes.

* * *

Staring out the window onto the vast grounds below, Draco felt a racing in his heart.

He'd been plagued with a sense of urgency—a deep anxiety—ever since the bonding ceremony had been completed.

He had Ascended to the seat of Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order. Now, he had his Lunae Amor. It was time to venture into the work that needed to be done. Bergen and his team of strategists had been plotting the best way forward with the Avance situation in France, and Draco would go there soon to see things for himself.

He had caught wind that the British Ministry wasn't thrilled with the idea of the Nocturnus Order establishing itself once more on their doorstep—not that there was anything they could do about it, since Nocturnus operated outside of public government—until they heard he was attempting to deal with the French Minister and resolve things in whatever way possible. Before Avance toppled the French Ministry itself and initiated another war.

Despite the fact that France had never sought to intercede with the war in Britain, Draco knew the same wouldn't hold true if the tables were to be turned.

But there was one additional matter that had to be dealt with first—one loose end that needed to be tied up.

He jumped from his thoughts at a knock on the door of his living quarters—the door through which only Granger had access. _Hermione_. He kept catching himself slip, because she wasn't Granger anymore. She was his Lunae Amor—his wife.

Turning from the window, he cleared his throat. "Come in."

She edged into the room, lingering by the door and twisting her hands. "I wanted to speak with you about your guards following me to my job—"

"No," he murmured, eyes tightening. "While your life is under threat, and while you insist on working, you'll have guards keeping an eye on you. They are tasked to look out for your best interests, however that looks."

Her eyes flashed. "But they're interfering—"

"As is their duty." She frowned at him, opening her mouth to argue, but he went on. "It is their job to keep you safe from danger, no matter the cost."

"Two young girls aren't danger." Folding her arms, she rolled her eyes.

Draco sighed, walking from his place at the window to stare at her. "And what if two young girls were two assassins under Polyjuice? What if they were paid off? If they'd been _Imperius_ed?" She fell silent but continued to scowl at him. "Our work here is more important than either of us. I'm not sorry to say it, but our work here with Avance is more important than selling books."

A heavy tension sat in her shoulders, even as her expression faltered. Quietly, she said, "I don't want to quit my job."

"I know. And this is my compromise."

Ire crackled in the depths of her eyes, and it stirred to life the newfound magic within Draco's soul; his lips pulled into a smirk as something hung in the air between them when she relented. Draco didn't understand all of it, and he wasn't keen to exploit the bonds between them, but it was fascinating all the same.

"While you're here and already angry with me," he said, averting his gaze from hers, lest he indulge the magic racing in his veins, "I need to talk to you."

The frustration was gone from her voice when she straightened her shoulders. "About?"

"I've secured an appointment," he began, gauging her reaction, "to see my father."

Humour twitched her lips as she muttered, "I was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

"Unfortunately, he's difficult to forget." Draco barked a singular laugh before taking a seat on the loveseat. Idly, Granger took up the seat beside him. "We won't need to stay long—and a part of me is _dying_ to see the look on his face when he realizes all that's happened in the last month."

Granger tittered. "When he learns you've married a Muggle-born."

Eyeing her, he nodded. "Among everything else."

"Fine. I'll be sure to wear my finest robes."

Draco laughed; there was something about her wry sense of humour that put him off his guard, and it wasn't entirely unwelcome when it seemed every aspect of his life lately left his guard otherwise lifted. "We have a Portkey into Azkaban in one hour. And tomorrow, we meet with the council. Bergen and his strategists have been debating the best way forward with the Avance situation. It's time we begin."

A nervous energy radiated from her as she nodded and echoed, "It's time."

* * *

The gloomy atmosphere of Azkaban prison always seeped through Draco's skin to embed his entire being with a melancholy sort of doom. He had only been to visit his father a handful of times since his incarceration at the end of the war, and largely at his mother's insistence.

Narcissa visited Lucius Malfoy every few months, although Draco wasn't sure whether it was because she actually liked seeing him or if it was just because they had spent so long together that she didn't know how to exist fully independent of him. Either way, he had never felt fit to ask.

The need to protect his Lunae Amor sang in his magic, and he had to ignore the instinct as Granger—Hermione—walked at his side into the visitation room after undergoing the proper protocol.

Draco had never been raised with the expectation of Ascension, despite that most of his advisers and council members had always been prepared for the eventuality of it. As such, his father needed to know. His lip curled at the thought of it—perhaps if his grandfather and father had Ascended instead of falling prey to the ambitions of a madman, Draco's whole life would have looked different.

Granger's hand slipped into his, whether in providing strength or in seeking it, he couldn't tell. But he welcomed the contact as it steadied the racing in his veins. Her fingers grazed the band of intricately twisted metal on his ring finger, and his lips pulled into a hint of a smile.

But once inside the room, Lucius Malfoy's stark presence wiped any trace of happiness from his countenance. His father looked worse every time Draco visited, his skin sallow and stretched across the bones of his face. His hair, bedraggled and knotted the last time they had seen one another, had been shorn close to his head. Draco's father, once so elegant and aristocratic, looked every bit the prison rat he had become.

Lucius Malfoy sat on a hard chair at a small table, but Draco could still see the way his prison robes hung from his gaunt frame.

"Father."

"Draco—and…"

Ignoring the attempt, Draco drew Hermione's seat out for her before taking his own; she took her seat with poise, eyes tightening as they fixed on his father.

Lucius sounded almost incredulous as he worked it out. "Miss Granger?"

"Father, this is my wife, Hermione Malfoy." As Lucius huffed a sound of surprise, he added, "My Lunae Amor."

For as long as the silence gaped between the three of them, Draco started to wonder whether his father hadn't heard him. The man simply stared back and forth between them, his mouth hanging slightly open, before finally he leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands across his stomach.

"How unfortunate." A sneer reminiscent of old lingered on Lucius' mouth.

Draco frowned, uncertain how much his father even knew about the Nocturnus Order—given neither Lucius nor his father Abraxas had ever Ascended—and opened his mouth to speak, when his father laughed, cold and mirthless.

"You've opted to sully the purity of the House of Malfoy—and for what? Some useless, archaic order with all pomp and no substance—and with more enemies than you could possibly believe." Lucius' eyes were cold as they met his own, and Draco straightened in his seat.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Draco sneered, feeling the noble magic of the Ascension stirring within him. "Given you've been locked in here for so long already." If his father was taken aback by his tone, he didn't express it. "The Nocturnus Order still possesses more power than you will ever know—and they most certainly are not useless."

Beneath the table, Granger's fingers nudged against his own—an offering of strength—and he wrapped her smaller hand in his.

His father didn't deserve the whole truth of the matter. He would rot in Azkaban, and Draco was already exhausted with his presence. "All you need to know," he huffed, "is that I'm fixing the fucking _mess_ you left Mother and I in after the last war. Because I won't see _my_ children dragged through the mud of the reputation you created."

Lucius' scowl was ice—and were Draco still a younger, lesser man, he might have cowered at the revulsion in his father's face. But Lucius only dragged his stare to land on Granger. He drawled, "Poor girl. What _ever_ has he manipulated you into? A short union it will be, then. History does have a tendency to repeat itself… I would know."

Granger only lifted her chin. "Draco, I believe it's time to go."

Turning to face her, he allowed a soft smile to come to his features, knowing it would infuriate his father. "You are absolutely correct."

Helping her to her feet, he led her from the room without another look back.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm so thrilled you all enjoyed the bonding ceremony last chapter! Your reviews made me grin like an idiot. Next week, we'll begin diving into the situation in France. Thanks so much for reading!

Alpha hearts as always to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and my rockstar beta is ravenslight! Go give them some love!


	10. Chapter 10

A light breeze swept through the air as Hermione ventured into the grounds of the Malfoy estate. It had been a warm Sunday morning while she stocked shelves at the bookstore, but now a gloomy layer of cloud cover was rolling in, bringing with it the promise of rain.

The Manor felt stifling.

That morning, the _Daily Prophet_ had spoke of a herd of centaurs in France who had stormed an old fortress, attempting to recover some of their friends who had been taken by Avance supporters. The centaurs had experienced significant injury and losses to their numbers before retreating to their forest.

It made her think of Firenze, Bane, and the other centaurs that had lived in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. They weren't simply mindless creatures, small in their motivations and understandings. They had been a complex society with their own beliefs and traditions. She couldn't understand why they were being so badly mistreated—and for nothing.

The group in France hadn't caused any harm, and their only crime was that they had chosen to live in a forest near a group of wizards and witches who had determined the centaurs' worth to be less than their own.

The front page of the _Prophet_ had featured a photo of a young male centaur, his scruffy face youthful but drawn with anguish. In his eyes shone a deep fear and hatred—a desire to reclaim those who had been taken from him. He wore a longbow across his back and smudged paint on his cheeks.

Tears of despair and exhaustion sprung to her eyes as she ventured into the forest in a remote corner of the grounds, collapsing into the dirt at the base of an ancient oak tree. Through the canopy high above, the last vestiges of brightness were swallowed by a thick layer of grey clouds. The bark was hard against her back through her shirt, but she welcomed the dirt and the pain as she pressed her eyes shut.

For the steps she had already taken—and for all the power the Nocturnus Order possessed—how were they going to fix this? The beliefs espoused by Avance had already seeped beyond the French Ministry into the greater conscious of the French people responsible for affronts such as this—because the centaurs were only one of the marginalised groups being victimised by the French Minister's new overarching policies.

It would be only a matter of time before Muggle-borns and half-bloods were lumped in. And they knew _that _dance all too well.

Hermione knew it wasn't for naught—that the council was working on the matter, and she knew Malfoy trusted Bergen and his team of strategists—but it didn't feel like enough. And certainly not fast enough.

They would need to meet with Claude Arcand, the French Minister for Magic. They would need to push Nocturnus' presence into France, where Avance was currently enjoying free reign. If Nocturnus was from the continent originally, it was time to return. They needed to learn who was pulling the strings—and cut them off at the source. The list was exhaustive, but mostly, she wanted to meet with the creatures and other groups, to ensure them that someone was looking out for them. The hard blue stare of the centaur lingered in the back of her mind's eye.

It was all in motion, she knew… but a deep, lingering despair had settled into her soul and was only worsening.

Drawing her knees into her chest, Hermione looked up as the first droplet of rain slipped through the lush forest canopy above. Sucking in a long, rattling breath, she dropped her face into her bent knees, eyes blurred with her own tears.

Another presence stirred her from her thoughts, and Hermione opened her eyes to see Malfoy seated beside her in the dirt, a hooded jumper pulled up over his head. His voice was soft. "You're going to make yourself sick."

Staring forward, she breathed, "It doesn't matter. How did you find me?"

"Podski alerted me you were out here," he said. "Best not to wander too deep into the forest."

With a cold laugh, Hermione asked, "I'm not allowed to walk freely on the grounds now?"

He ignored the statement. "I thought you were still at work."

She blew out a long breath. "The owner got irritated at me and sent me home early. The guards scare off all his business."

"I can't apologize for wanting you safe." As a thick silence fell between them, Malfoy plucked the stem of a wildflower under the next tree. She jumped, startled, as he tucked it behind her ear. Blinking at her, he offered a hint of a smirk. "You know the work we have to do here is more important than your job there."

Hermione released a long sigh. "I know. I just…"

"You aren't ready to give up every part of your old life," he surmised. "I understand—and believe me, this all has been more of an adjustment for me than I'm used to even now."

"If it helps," she began, "I think you're holding it together better than I am. And you've made this a lot easier on me than you needed to."

His blond fringe peeked out from beneath his hood as he leaned his head back against the trunk of the oak; it made him look younger. "It's just… we're in this together—for the rest of our lives. There's no reason to make things harder."

She asked, "What are we doing about Avance?"

"We're going to France," he clipped. "This coming week. Bergen is finalising the details of some of our meetings with the French Ministry and with some of his other contacts who can provide us more insight into Avance's campaign and how they came virtually out of nowhere."

Nerves tingled along her spine at the thought of it, even as she whispered, "Good."

His shoulder pressed against hers as the rain increased in its insistence, coming through the branches above to land on her face. There was an odd, companionable sort of silence between them, and Hermione didn't find his presence unwelcome.

But still, a bitter unrest lingered in her soul. Against her best judgment, the words of Lucius Malfoy had been lingering in the back of her mind ever since they had been to visit him in that cold prison room. His words about the Nocturnus Order and their many ancient enemies.

Theirs being a short union—history repeating itself.

Most likely the mad words of a man unhinged, but there was so much about the Order that was hidden and buried in the annals of history. Even she hadn't found everything in the old journals, and Malfoy had told her the darker years hadn't been chronicled at all.

What sort of skeletons were hidden in Nocturnus' closet—and would she regret digging deeper?

Malfoy interrupted her musing when he asked, "Are you okay?"

Dropping her chin back onto her knees, she breathed, "Yes." Maybe eventually she would believe her own words—his expression clearly indicated he didn't. But he rose to his feet all the same.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts." He brushed off the seat of his trousers, swiping water from his face. "We have a meeting with the Council in the morning. Don't get soaked out here—and don't go too far into the forest without your wand. Preferably at all."

With that, he Disapparated. Within the Malfoy wards, only a Malfoy could travel via Apparition, and she stared at the empty space he had occupied moments before. Her fingers lifted to the wildflower tucked into her wet curls, soaked and limp with the rain. Not ready to return to the Manor just yet, she stood and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

When she arrived in the sitting room of the gloomy townhouse, Hermione almost instantly regretted the impulsive decision. She ought to have sent word first, in case Harry was busy. But he merely stared at her from across the room, clearly in the middle of a chess match with Ron. Daphne sat on the sofa, flipping through a copy of _Witch Weekly_.

"Hi," Hermione breathed, tension lifting her shoulders.

"Hermione," Harry said, flashing a grin. "We weren't expecting you—and soaked, nonetheless."

She winced. "Right, sorry—I'll go."

"Nonsense!" Daphne leapt to her feet, collecting a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around Hermione's shoulders. "You know you're always welcome here."

Ron hadn't said anything—or even moved, other than to gape at her—and she offered a smile in his direction. "Hi Ron." He forced an awkward grin.

Harry completed a move, watched as his rook destroyed one of Ron's bishops, and rose to his feet. "What brings you here today, Malfoy?"

With an uneasy smile, Hermione looked around the room at the three of them; Ron had visibly paled at Harry's mention of her new surname, and his stare lingered on the ring around her fourth finger. Clutching the blanket closer to her, she mused, "Suppose I just wanted to see some friends."

Slinging an arm around her, Harry announced, "You've found us. You look like you could use a Butterbeer."

* * *

Several hours later, after the Butterbeer had switched to Firewhisky, Hermione felt some of her worries slough away. She had stepped into a position so unlike her old life that it wasn't surprising it all felt heavy on her soul. Not to mention she had married Draco Malfoy.

It was nice to escape and to simply spend time with her old friends. Not that she didn't want to be around Malfoy—and to a certain extent, she didn't mind his presence anymore—but there was something both enticing and enjoyable about forgetting everything for a short while.

The barroom at the Three Broomsticks was mostly empty but for the four of them, and no one was gawking or whispering—no guards were stalking her every move.

Avance could continue to plague her in the morning, but for a few hours, she wanted to simply be Hermione again. Not Hermione Malfoy, and not the Lunae Amor.

She was being responsible, but even so, her mind spun a little under the heady influence of the whisky as she plucked at the cold chips remaining on her plate. Snorting at something Harry was saying, she almost didn't notice the guards in her periphery until silence fell across the table. She hadn't even noticed their stealthy arrival.

Ron muttered, "Are you sure you're allowed to even be out of the Manor, Hermione?"

"Of course I am," she huffed, scowling at the matching stoic expressions on her two guards' faces. They were the same ones who had accompanied her to work that day and had caused problems with her boss, Ben and Vlad. She gave them a wave of acknowledgment even as she rolled her eyes; they both nodded in return and took up their posts along the wall.

But with the stark reminder of her new life and the situation at hand, the fun had fizzled out of the evening and Hermione's energy melted away. It had been a long day, and she was beginning to feel fatigued. She ought to have known Nocturnus would have eyes everywhere—or maybe they had some way of tracking her.

She stubbornly took her time in finishing her drink, and despite that the guards virtually ignored her and her friends, she couldn't help but feel their stares on her. Not wanting to elaborate on the situation with the threatening letter, especially since it was a private Nocturnus matter, Hermione tried to brush it off as nothing with her friends.

But once her drink was gone, she bid farewell to her friends and allowed the guards to Apparate her back to the Manor. While she prepared for sleep and collapsed into her bed, she tried to remind herself that she had asked for all of this. And more importantly, it wasn't about _her_.

* * *

Hermione slept well into the morning the next day, and when she arose, a bitter feeling of unease lingered in her stomach; she didn't think it had anything to do with the Firewhisky from the night before.

Malfoy was already seated at the small breakfast table in the kitchen, eating his usual rye toast with orange marmalade, along with some scrambled eggs. Eyeing her when she sat down, he merely sipped his tea.

Hermione selected some items for her own plate and poured herself a glass of juice; tension hung thick in the air, and she didn't care to meet his gaze. His fingernails tapped against the small table, clicking against the wood.

He took another sip of his tea, expression schooled into stoicism.

With a huffed breath, Hermione rolled her eyes. "What?"

Malfoy set his teacup on its saucer, pressing his lips together. There was a tightness around his eyes belying his air of neutrality.

"In the future," he said, folding his hands, "I would ask that you conduct yourself with decorum befitting your position. That means, if nothing more, alerting me when you will be leaving for the duration of an evening."

Her temper flared as she scowled at his presumption. Because Merlin knew he wouldn't have allowed her one night with her friends _without_ his intrusive guards at her side. "I'm allowed to—"

"Yes," he interrupted, the word terse. "You are allowed to do as you please. I knew when I decided to take you as my wife that you would require a certain amount of independence, and I have done my best to allow you that. And I do not say _any_ of this, Hermione, to be an arse, despite the many colourful things assuredly running through your mind right now."

The bitter words on the tip of her tongue died and withered away at the consternation in his brow.

Accepting her silence, he went on. "I am saying this because our enemies are watching _every_ move we make—together and alone. They are looking, and waiting, for any sign of a chink in our armour. You're my partner, and we're in this together; we need to be _unified_."

Malfoy hesitated, a teasing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "And you can bet your pretty little arse they've unearthed the history between us—they'll be _salivating_ at the very thought that you're unhappy with me. Does this make any sense?"

Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry at his motives and his eloquence. "Yes." She nodded, pursing her lips. "That makes sense."

His gaze remained fixed on her, hard and unwavering. After a drawn out moment, he looked away, taking a final sip of his tea. "And I was worried about you. I'm glad you're alright."

He folded his serviette and rose from his seat, before turning and pacing from the room, his steps measured and brisk. Hermione gaped after him, wondering at what point her childhood enemy had become a man—a _leader_.

* * *

As he stared at the faces of each of the members of the Nocturnus council—Granger included, seated at his right—Draco felt a quake in the core of his magic. For two months this had been the aim: go into France, assert Nocturnus presence, and neuter Avance's reign of disruption and terror.

The plan Elias Bergen had laid out was not subtle; it was loud and intrusive and would leave no doubt as to the stance and the desires of the Nocturnus Order. Of his own reasons for Ascending in the first place and taking his Lunae Amor.

A cool sort of determination lingered on Granger's features despite the tension radiating from her body. He almost thought he could feel her nerves racing with his own.

They would be leaving for France within a matter of days, bringing a large contingent with them—including Bergen and Dagomir—along with a heavy force of guards. Hugo had remained oddly attentive during the meeting; Draco hadn't decided yet whether he would join them on the trip.

Their first efforts would be with Claude Arcand and the French Ministry. They had been so easily swayed to the ideals of Avance, but with the way the uprisings were growing, both among magical creature populations and the wizards and witches in their defense, Arcand was looking at the very real possibility of war knocking.

Bergen's network of information ran wide and deep, and Draco didn't even know everything about the situation other than to say Bergen was the ideal man for his job. Their next venture would be Avance reconnaissance: almost everything about the group was cloaked in secrecy, and that didn't sit well with the council. It was paramount they learn more about the enemy—and in this case, that would require learning as much as possible. The leader of the group was a complete unknown and had yet to reveal their ultimate aims.

It would be one of their largest goals while on this preliminary visit into France—but Draco didn't know enough about who he could and couldn't trust on the continent, so he was left to rely on Bergen's network.

Furthermore, they needed to learn how wide Avance's networks ran. Because almost assuredly, they were acting with influence beyond the French borders.

The next task would be reaching out to the groups marginalised by Arcand's drastic policy shifts.

In many ways, Granger's former role in the Department of Magical Creatures left her both knowledgeable and readily able to communicate with the magical creatures leading the uprisings. Bergen had booked meetings across all areas of France with a wide array of creatures. Draco was privately glad for Granger's expertise.

They would be in France for at least a week.

Throughout the council meeting, Granger had kept diligent notes at his side, despite the fact that Oro always presented impeccable records of every meeting. But when Draco peeked over, she was marking extraneous details that might come in handy in dealing with certain factions of creatures.

When she caught him looking, he only offered a smirk.

"So," Draco ventured, once the itinerary had been presented; his mind spun with the idea of all they would be doing. "If this all doesn't work—if Avance won't back down—what comes next?"

A grim silence fell over the long table. Beside him, Granger shifted in her seat. Bergen removed his thin frames, folding them before setting them down.

"If none of our efforts come to fruition," he said, his voice quiet but tremulous, "then we turn to more proactive measures."

A chill crept down Draco's spine.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey everyone. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Wherever you are in the world, I hope you're safe and well, and I wish you all the best.

I've been struggling to get many words down with everything going on, but I'm hoping to make some progress on Nocturnus, and hopefully increase the posting schedule once I'm a little further on. I still have 27 chapters written ahead, so no worries about regular updates! Take care everyone. xoxo

Alpha and beta love to my wonderful team, Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight. They're all posting regular WIP updates, so go give them some love!


	11. Chapter 11

Claude Arcand was a loud, boisterous, and pretentious man, and Hermione took an immediate dislike to him. Despite being the leader of the French magical community, the man quite evidently cared more about his own seat of power than the people for whom he was meant to look out.

The irony was that many of the people he was currently failing were making a solid attempt to rise up and overthrow him from his seat atop the French Ministry.

The French community, as a result, was divisive and ridden with strife—the situation was already worse than Hermione had realised. Those who were opposed to Arcand's support of the Avance policies were in the minority, but they were keen to make their voices heard. And many were witches and wizards who, like Hermione, were opposed to the poor treatment their fellow magical citizens were receiving.

They learned a remarkable amount in only one day in France. In Paris, the meeting with Minister Arcand was like speaking to a brick wall. For one thing, he refused to speak any English, despite that they knew him to be bilingual. Hermione's conversational French was rusty, but at least Malfoy was fluent. Regardless, Arcand had no interest in meeting with them—he was cold and sneering and eager to rush them away.

Hermione could see the disdain evident on Malfoy's face when they had retreated to evaluate their course of action.

Clearly, the iron grip of Avance ran as deeply as they had imagined, if not more so.

Upon arriving in Paris, Elias Bergen had taken a small team of advisers and guards to begin his underground reconnaissance into the world of Avance; the bulk of the guard had stayed with the Lunae Ortus.

And so far, they were nowhere.

Hugo had been in charge of accommodations—he had managed to convince Malfoy he was required on the trip, so he had spent the first day with his father—and he had secured them lodging at a posh hotel beyond the outskirts of Paris that might as well have been a castle.

Hermione was uncertain whether Hugo thought he was being considerate or thoughtful, but he had booked the two of them into the same room—catching her tongue on a retort, she was left only to hope the room contained separate beds.

Although they had kissed at the bonding ceremony, wild magic raging between them, things between her and Malfoy had remained otherwise aloof—and they had been as prone to disagreements as ever. Learning to work together would most certainly take time. But despite that the day hadn't provided anything fruitful, she hadn't seen any rudeness or frustration aimed her way.

The tension of the day sat heavy on his shoulders as he pushed open the door to their shared quarters. When a breath of relief chased from her lips at the sight of two beds, she could have sworn his lips twitched.

"No interest in sharing, I presume?" he murmured, planting a coin into the palm of the young bellhop who delivered their things.

Colour flushing into her cheeks, she gaped wordlessly, disinterested in offending him but unsure as to what sort of response he was expecting.

Until he huffed a laugh and said, "Pick one."

"Nearest the window," she said instantly, claiming the furthest bed.

"Granger likes the window," Malfoy muttered, almost under his breath; he flashed her a wink and added, "noted." When she turned back, mouth open to speak, he was closer than she had anticipated. As he stared down at her, a furrow settled into his brow. "I suppose I'll need to know these things one day… maybe."

A hint of humour tugged at her lips. "You're in a strange mood."

"Would you rather I grouch and complain all over the place?" he asked, lifting a delicate brow. "We anticipated the meeting with Arcand to go poorly. His lack of receptivity to us is indicative of the depth of Avance's influence. And if Avance didn't have the pull with Arcand that we've already seen, there would be no issue."

His logic made sense, and Hermione took a seat cross-legged on her bed as her head fell to the side in a tilt. "I guess you're right. Have you heard anything back from Elias yet?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No—but that will likely take time, too. It's all steeped in so much mystery. We could have looked for information on Avance from England, but the source matters. And the credibility of the source. I trust Bergen, and he's not led us astray. It might take a few days—and in the meanwhile, you and I have plenty of meetings to keep us busy."

Drawing their itinerary from her bag, Hermione scanned the list. "Centaurs tomorrow?"

"Centaurs." The bridge of his nose wrinkled. "I can't say my own experiences with centaurs have ever been altogether pleasant—but at least Firenze was a better Divination instructor than Trelawney was."

Hermione scoffed before realizing he was being serious. "You actually buy all of that toss?"

Ducking his chin, he stared at her like she was insane. "What toss? Divination is valid when dealing with a proper Seer. Trelawney made one or two half-arsed predictions in her life and Dumbledore gave her a job. You can't measure the entire art against one lunatic."

She folded her arms, lifting a brow as she returned to the itinerary. "Werewolves the next."

"Honestly?" Malfoy was insistent. "You can't tell me after everything that's happened in the last month that you don't believe in obscure forms of magic? Or did you think the Lunae bonds are common, everyday magic? Merlin, Granger—I've stepped into an inheritance where I magically connect with the moon, and you're telling me you don't think people can See the future."

Releasing a sigh, Hermione lifted her head. His expression suggested he didn't know what to make of her. "Fine, Malfoy. I suppose the idea has some merit."

"You never believed in magic, did you?" he asked, his tone flippant and soft. "Until—suddenly—you were a witch."

"Blast," she muttered. It was a valid point.

* * *

Draco wasn't entirely certain he wanted to meet with an entire herd of slighted centaurs, based on his vague recollections of the way they tended to hold grudges. After a moment of consideration, he reminded himself they weren't the ones forcing the centaurs to search for their missing loved ones.

The herd they were to meet with were about two dozen in number, and thankfully they spoke English. Granger's French was mediocre at best, and of the two of them, she was the one more apt in communicating with magical creatures. She probably even understood their customs, though she claimed not to believe in Divination. Although after their discussion on the topic the night before, Draco could only hope she wouldn't offend them with her dismissal of their astrological practices.

The centaurs were currently situated in a forest outside of Avignon, and the pair of them Portkeyed into a field a respectable distance away before walking into the forest.

Draco had been told only that the herd was expecting them, and that their presence in the forest would be noted. He had managed to persuade the guards that had been acting like his shadow since arriving in France that their attendance for the meeting was not only unnecessary but would also likely act as a hindrance in building trust with the centaurs. So he found himself alone with Granger, again.

It had been strange to share a room the night before, because although she had been living in the Manor for weeks already, they weren't actively in one another's space very often. He could tell she had been relieved their hotel room had two beds, but a small part of Draco had been interested in seeing her squirm had there only been one.

Of course, the trust he hoped they could one day establish was still, as of yet, a pipe dream.

As was any possible physical relationship.

She paced at his side, wringing her hands—he had started to pick up on her physical and verbal tells, and this one was a sign of her nerves.

"Anything last minute I should know?" he huffed under his breath, well aware there were most likely arrows trained on them at the moment.

Her eyes slid to the side to meet his, but she carried on forwards. "Do not insult them."

"I wasn't planning on it," he growled, feeling on edge as surely as he could feel eyes watching him. "But thanks for the reminder."

Any response she might have attempted to dredge up was cut short when a female centaur blocked their path; Draco hadn't seen or heard her approach. Long black hair flowed down her back in dreadlocks, and while her face was beautiful, her expression was severe; she emanated a cold mixture of fury and despair. Her voice was low as she announced, "That's far enough."

Granger squared her shoulders even as she ducked her chin in a hesitant nod. Determined to follow her lead, Draco echoed the gesture; the centaur dropped her chin as well, recognizing the greeting.

"My name is Hermione Malfoy." Shifting on her feet, she held her hands forward, palms up; he noticed the slight stutter when she said his surname instead of her former one. "Lunae Amor of the Nocturnus Order. This is the Lunae Ortus—Draco Malfoy."

The centaur met his stare, clapping a hand over her heart.. "Lunae Ortus—and Lunae Amor. Thank you for coming. My name is Willow. Please, come this way."

They ventured deeper into the forest, and while Draco was still aware of an additional presence hidden in the trees, he was relieved the initial contact had been well received. And given they were there to offer their assistance, he didn't expect any arrows to the heart. Willow was silent as they walked, and the trees grew so thick he could no longer see the brightness of the sun above.

At last Willow spoke as they passed a flowing stream. "We do not always take such care with our camps, but as of late, more and more of our numbers have vanished." She carried a tense set to her shoulders and back as she walked ahead of them on four legs; Draco idly wondered if she found them to be slow.

Slipping his hands into his trousers, Draco said, "We are sorry to hear of your recent troubles. The Nocturnus Order is staunchly opposed to the policy shifts the French Ministry has put forward."

"That," Willow stated as she snapped her head back to stare at him, "is the only reason you've made it this far alive."

Granger's next step was a little closer to him. "I can't help but notice you speak with an English accent," she mused. "Is your herd originally from England?"

WIllow's answer was short and unhelpful. "Yes." But moments later, they broached a clearing where around fifteen centaurs lingered. "Some of our numbers are hunting and gathering at the moment. But we here are the last of our herd. When we left England, we numbered forty-three."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Draco said, a furrow lifting into his brow. "Do you know why humans would be targeting you?"

Lip curling with revulsion, Willow swept back her long hair. "The same reason humans always target us—they believe us to be lesser. They believe they can take our hair, our hooves—for their own petty usages. Many of us have been captured and kidnapped; we know at least some to be still alive, but we do not know where."

"That's terrible," Granger huffed, horrified. "Can I ask… how do you know they are still alive?"

A new, deeper voice entered the conversation. "We have read it in the stars. But where they are… that remains obscured."

Fighting back the urge to smile in Granger's direction, Draco kept his face blank. He wondered about her thoughts on that answer.

But the male centaur turned to Draco, offering his hand. "Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor of the Nocturnus Order. My name is Fletcher; you have met my sister, Willow. Thank you for your consideration of our plight."

"Fletcher." Accepting the handshake, Draco nodded. "I am hopeful we can help with the situation."

"As are we," Fletcher affirmed. His hair was long as well, wilder than WIllow's, and he wore a beard. His blue eyes flashed with authority. "Most recently, several weeks ago three of our herd were taken. Before that, it had been two months. That is when our leader—my father, Firenze—was captured."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "Firenze. You are the centaur herd who lived in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts."

"We were." Fletcher gave a somber nod; Willow stood, silent but proud, at his side. "We left for the continent after the end of your wizarding war in search of a safer home. We were misled."

The situation felt incredibly close to home, and Draco forced a swallow. "I knew your father—he was one of my instructors at Hogwarts. He was both knowledgeable and kind. I'm sorry to hear of his capture."

Laying a hand over his heart, Fletcher dropped his head into a deep nod of recognition. Clapping a hand to Draco's shoulder, he said, "Thank you, my friend. As I hear it, both you and I have had our new roles thrust upon us. Our herd appreciates the steps you both are taking."

"We'll do whatever we can to help," Granger said, her head in a thoughtful tilt. "Thank you for meeting with us—it's helpful to understand the situation here in France."

"The situation is dire," Fletcher said, his deep voice stern, "all across France—and not only for magical beings like us. Some humans offer their sympathy, but many do not care. In our opinions, it is a matter of time before certain groups of humans become mistreated and marginalised as well."

Granger breathed, "Muggle-borns."

Fletcher gave another nod. "Our herd does not anticipate positive change—and we would have already left, were we not still harbouring hope for recovering our lost friends."

Trailing his fingers along the small of Granger's back, Draco met Fletcher's bright stare once more. "We anticipate change—one way or another."

Understanding the reference, Fletcher clasped the longbow strapped across his chest. "Should it come to it—we fight alongside Nocturnus."

"Thank you." Ducking his head into another nod, having determined they appreciated the respect of it, he added, "We'll keep in touch as we can, and we will seek to do anything within our power to help."

"We appreciate any help you are able to provide."

Both Fletcher and Willow planted their hands over their hearts again; Draco and Granger followed suit before turning to leave the forest.

* * *

While the initial meeting with the centaurs had gone well enough to give Draco hope that the rest of the magical creature groups they were to meet with would be equally receptive, they were sorely mistaken.

The following day, they met with a pack of werewolves who had left Marseilles due to extreme prejudice and were living together in a tent village outside of the city. While their civilization had seemed organized enough at the outset, their alpha wolf was an angry and bloodthirsty man who wanted nothing more than for the citizens of Marseilles to be caught outdoors during the next full moon.

He had no desire for a civil conversation, and it was readily apparent the rest of the pack were too frightened to stand up to him, despite that some of them watched Draco and Granger with hope in their eyes.

Before they made a hasty retreat, Granger had loudly announced the Nocturnus Order would be doing their best to resolve the situation that was sweeping France like wildfire.

But the alpha was salivating just staring at her, and Draco still had frequent enough nightmares about Fenrir Greyback that he wasn't keen to linger any longer than necessary. So the pair of them had returned to the hotel, emotionally fraught and fatigued.

The day after that, they met with a coven of vampires outside of Bordeaux—and the Nocturnus Guard had been bound and determined to attend that meeting; Draco hadn't been keen to argue. The elder of the coven, while discouraged over the situation, wasn't very interested in speaking with them. The coven had once shared a mutual exchange with a local hospital of labour for packaged blood, but the coven had been forced out by policy shifts and left to fend for themselves; driven by thirst, many of them had eventually turned to feasting on the population of Bordeaux instead.

Once more, he and Granger hadn't stayed for long.

All of it had left Draco feeling both disarmed and frustrated. Out of four meetings so far, only one had proved even remotely informative, and they currently had no means of helping the kidnapped centaur population.

Beneath all of it, running like a current through Draco's veins, was the concern that they had yet to hear from Elias and Hugo Bergen. The daily reports of the Nocturnus Guard when they swapped shifts were only to mention that everything was well and that Bergen needed more time.

And until he received a proper report on Avance, they wouldn't know the details of what they were up against.

All they had learned since arriving in France was that things were worse than they even realised and that Avance's crusade of terror ran deep and hit hard. The French Ministry would be of no help, and neither would most of the creatures who were being victimised by the drastic shifts in policy.

What Draco needed was someone inside the French Ministry—better yet, he needed someone inside Avance. But that was unlikely, and he wasn't certain he wanted to take things to that level just yet.

One thing was clear: Avance wasn't interested in backing down, and the threat of war with Nocturnus was not enough to deter them. Which left him wondering once more about Avance's true aim—and where in the name of Merlin they had come from.

Peering out over the balcony of his hotel room, Draco could see the lights of Paris in the distance. Fatigue—both physical and mental—sat heavy on his heart. Many times he'd seen Paris, but never had he felt such despair. Such an overwhelming sense of responsibility, coupled with a lack of ability.

A waning crescent moon was rising into the sky, and he allowed his eyes to flutter shut; the presence of the moon brought relief and a quiet assurance. He could feel the way it delved into his overwrought soul, seeking to strengthen him from within while magic pulsed at the tips of his fingers. As he opened his palm to the sky, the magic shimmered free of his skin, culminating into a sphere of silver light hovering above his hand.

Focusing on the orb, he didn't notice Granger until she was at his side, leaning on the balcony railing. Her voice was soft and sounded as exhausted as he felt. "Should I be concerned about you throwing that at me?"

"Remember," Draco mused, still not averting his gaze from the magic, "I can't hurt you. You're glad for that clause in the contract now, aren't you?"

She snickered, shifting closer to his side. "I don't believe you'd attack me with it—but yes, I am. Although I have to wonder what would happen if you tried."

Releasing the globe of magic as it continued to grow, Draco pushed it upwards; they both watched as the shimmering sphere broke into millions of sparkling particles before bursting into the air and drifting away. "It depends on the intent—or so I'm told."

"So if I were Avance," she said, turning to him with a leading stare.

"If you were Avance," Draco breathed, his voice low, "you don't want me to summon the moon."

She shifted with a shiver, understanding his meaning, even as she brandished her own palm towards the sky. "I wonder if any of the power transferred during the bonding ceremony."

Both of them stared at her palm—she with concentration, and he with interest—but he looked away after she laid her palm back down at her side. Draco shrugged, turning to face the moon again. "You might be able to—just work at it. In case you haven't realised by now… a lot of this was never properly documented. I don't know the full extent of the lunar affiliation, beyond the fact that I wouldn't want to be my enemy when it releases."

Granger stared at him for a long moment before tucking into his side. Surprised, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders; clad only in a thin long-sleeve shirt and jeans, she was cold, and she didn't pull away from his touch even when he drew her closer into his chest. The silence between them grew tense, charged with an unfamiliar energy that raced through his veins until finally she sighed. Her voice was so soft he almost had to strain to hear her. "I know this isn't how we were hoping things would go in France," she mused, "but we're only just scratching the surface. It's important to know where everything stands."

"I need to know what Bergen has found," Draco said, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "We need to know everything about Avance—so we know what we're up against." After a long moment of silence, he added, "So we know how we can bring them down."

Her lashes fluttered as she shifted to look up at him; her expression was unreadable. Then she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek—no more than a brush of her lips—and stepped out of his embrace. "Be sure you get some sleep."

Squeezing her shoulder, he only nodded before turning back to the moon.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Surprise! It isn't Monday. I've spoken with my beta, and at least for the next handful of weeks while the world is closing down and falling apart, I'll be posting a chapter every 5 days rather than every 7. Then we'll re-evaluate from there; if I can continue to maintain a schedule of 5 days I will.

I desperately and sincerely hope you're all keeping safe and healthy. Together we're going to get through this. xoxo

Your words mean SO much to me during these challenging times, and I'm so thrilled to know so many of you are still enjoying this story. Your comments and reviews really brighten my day. Thanks so much for reading.

Alpha and beta hearts to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	12. Chapter 12

After two more days of discouraging meetings and no more than vague ambiguity regarding the veil of Avance, Hermione was mentally exhausted. It was evident Malfoy felt the same. Their entire time in France had largely been one roadblock after the next, and everything felt beyond their control.

She wasn't certain what Malfoy's thoughts were on the matter, as he had become more reserved and withdrawn as the days passed, but she suspected he thought the threatened power of the Nocturnus Order might have been enough for Avance to hesitate, if nothing else.

But they still had no information on the group and had yet to see any trace of their actual prominence on the ground in France. It was both disheartening and infuriating, that the people at the centre of so much havoc were virtually invisible.

Hermione was flipping through one of the old Nocturnus journals she had borrowed from Malfoy after a shower, following another long day of fruitless meetings. That afternoon, they had met with one of the activist groups that were protesting the anti-creature policies, hopeful that at last they would have found people on the same page. And while the activists were keen on the Nocturnus Order's interest in shutting down Avance and Claude Arcand, they had no proactive means to do so.

And the only information they could offer about Avance's influence over the situation was that the group had arisen a handful of months prior, and that Arcand had been openly receptive to their suggestions from the start. The activists were eager to see Arcand supplanted from his seat atop the Ministry, although their main course of action was simply to persuade others to their side of things.

While intentions were better than nothing, what they required was information and a plan of action.

When Malfoy had caught her eye with a grimace, they had thanked the group for their time and returned to the hotel. Following a shower, Hermione was feeling marginally refreshed, despite the heavy unease in her soul.

Malfoy took up a seat at the foot of her bed, folding his legs beneath himself as he planted his hands on his knees. Breaking the tense silence, he announced, "I think we will need to return home. Almost a week in France, and we have very little to show for it."

"Maybe you're right." Hermione set her book aside. "Once home, we can attempt to regroup and go from there. Find a different way in with Avance."

Sweeping a hand through his hair, he nodded. A loud rap on the door startled them both, and meeting her eyes for a brief moment, Malfoy rose to answer. The two men who had been standing guard over their room were outside, dire expressions on their faces while they conferred with Malfoy in tones too quiet for Hermione to hear. Rising from the bed, she walked over.

"Bergen's back." The words were enough to explain the look on Malfoy's face, and Hermione nodded.

"Let's go."

* * *

In a whirlwind of time spanning no more than two hours, Draco found himself back in Wiltshire at Malfoy Manor, a hard lump in the pit of his stomach.

During a brief conversation with Elias Bergen, the man had been hesitant to share what he had learned about Avance—in fact, he had downright refused—but it was the look on Hugo's face that struck Draco with the seriousness of the matter. He had never seen the young man look worried, his usual mood ranging between pretentious and jovial, and something about it had pulled at the edges of Draco's conscience badly enough that he had announced the contingent would pack and prepare to leave France.

They had exhausted the resources they had been intending to utilise anyways, and there were no more meetings booked for the time being.

If Bergen was concerned about prying ears even despite the heaviest wards and spells possible, he had learned something dire.

Which only exacerbated the racing of Draco's heart.

He had called for a meeting of the council one hour after their return to England, and he found Granger lingering in a corridor of the Nocturnus Wing with Hugo Bergen, both of them ashen-faced. Pausing mid-stride, he eyed the pair of them. "What is it? What did you learn?"

"Just wait." Hugo's brows sat high on his forehead, his mouth twisted to the side; with a grimace he added, "It isn't good."

"No shite," Draco huffed under his breath. He had already assumed as much. Stepping to Granger's side, he rested a hand on her lower back and walked with her in silence towards the council room, aware of Hugo astride at his other side. "Whatever it is—we'll figure out a way to turn it to our advantage."

Irritation prickled his skin when Hugo only released a low whistle.

Glenneth and Oro were already seated, and within minutes, Elias and Dagomir joined the group; around the table were a group of stony faces.

Without any commencement fanfare, Draco turned to Elias Bergen. "Please inform us of what you have discovered."

Interlocking his hands atop the table, Bergen stared over the top of his thin frames. "What we discovered, Lunae, is that Avance has not come out of the woodwork after all. Their influence with the French Ministry is not from nothing and not a coincidence."

Frustrated with the whole series of events, Draco released a sigh. "What do you mean? Who are they, then?"

Merlin, he could _feel_ the nervous energy emanating from Granger at his side; he cast her a quick reassuring glance which came out more like a grimace. Her fingers briefly grazed his arm.

"Lunae, Avance is not acting as a contemporary of the Grindelwald ideals from many decades past," Bergen explained. "But a contemporary of a society much older—_much_ more arcane—and a group of immense power which has always existed for one purpose alone."

Something seized and clenched at Draco's heart, and warning bells pealed in the back of his mind. The sharp intake of Granger's breath triggered the tumultuous fervour of his heart as he stared around the table.

"You _can't_ possibly mean—"

Bergen's voice dropped. "Lunae, does the name _Alba_ mean anything to you?"

"Alba," Draco echoed, an uncomfortable lump in his throat as he forced a swallow. The word sounded hollow from his own lips. "The ancient Italian society that was created to dismantle the Nocturnus Order."

A hush fell over the group, and he wasn't certain he was breathing or that his heart was still beating.

It was Granger who broke the silence. "So this Alba—" she sucked in a tight breath "—what could they possibly want by influencing French policy? What's the connection with Claude Arcand?"

Leave it to her to be rational in the face of dreadful news—and the thought of Alba taking up the hunt once more _was_ dreadful.

"We are not certain, but I believe Arcand may have roots or connections with Alba," Bergen stated, his voice quiet but tremulous. "He's not only being influenced by Avance—he's _within _Avance, somehow."

"Why now?" Draco asked, shaking his head. "None of this even makes any sense—what could Alba possibly want? They fell out of history centuries ago."

"So says history," Bergen replied. "But there are many who believe Alba only retreated to lick their wounds and wait. When your great-grandfather Septimus Malfoy allowed Nocturnus to drift into obscurity, it was uncertain as to why. Nocturnus was the most powerful magical order in history and had existed at its peak for centuries beforehand. But many believe he was under pressure by remnants of Alba and chose to let the old feud die. According to many, Alba was never satisfied—they were envious of the power of the Nocturnus Order, and through the annals of history, the grudge was never allowed to fade away. Alba has kept on, in secret, building its power once more underground."

"But there has been no feud," Draco pressed, feeling a headache building at the edges of his temples. "My grandfather never Ascended—and if Alba's aim was to dismantle the Nocturnus Order, why wasn't that the end of it?"

Silence fell across the table once more, and when Draco shared a quick glance with Granger, her expression was grim; her hand slipped into his beneath the table and Draco drew in a long breath, seeking strength from the graze of her magic against his own.

Breaking the quiet, he continued. "The Nocturnus Order faded into obscurity decades ago. What cause would any Alba contemporary even have?"

Glenneth huffed quietly and shook his head; the deep lines of his face were more pronounced with the frown he wore, when he was usually so cheerful. "The lunar affiliation you now possess," he began, gesturing with one wizened hand, "is unique, powerful magic. It stems from a long line of mages who ruled over the Nocturnus Order and honed their powers to the point where it could be passed on through the Ascension and strengthened by the Lunae bonds. Alba have suffered by the affiliation; many times through the centuries, their power was crippled by the strength of the affiliation and by a Lunae Ortus willing to use it."

Draco's head spun—so many things had fallen through the cracks of Nocturnus history, and he couldn't wrap his head around it all.

But the mage continued. "The affiliation can be gained in only two ways. Through Ascension—or by force."

"Force," Draco echoed, jaw clenching.

Dagomir released a low growl, his hand curling into a fist on the table.

The mage squared his shoulders and looked Draco straight in the eye. "By force, yes. When Septimus Malfoy stepped down from the throne, he neutralised the affiliation. I was not the high mage at the time, so I cannot say for certain his motivations—but he would have ensured the lunar affiliation stayed protected. _You_, Lunae, have awakened it once more. He who overpowers the Lunae Ortus may find within them the means to take the affiliation—it is not easy, but possible."

Granger's hand tightened within his, but Draco's grasp felt loose and weak as the strength chased from his body at the revelation. "So what you're saying," he began, his voice scarcely a breath, "is that the leader of Avance means to kill me."

"And thereby claim the affiliation for himself—or herself." Glenneth's expression darkened, and Dagomir slammed his fist into the table; everyone flinched.

"None of this makes sense," Granger said, her breathing tight. "Draco didn't Ascend until _after_ Avance was already a problem. He wouldn't have ever awoken the affiliation if it weren't for Avance causing trouble in France."

As he listened to her words, his mouth grew dry. "They had no chance."

Her stare snapped to his. "What?"

"My grandfather never Ascended—if what you're saying, Glenneth, is true, Septimus must have discouraged him—and he chose the path of Lord Voldemort as a surer route to power. As a result, my father never Ascended either." The words felt distant, as if from outside of himself, and he blew out a long breath. "Avance must have been watching me, aware that the affiliation was within my grasp."

Bergen frowned, peering at Draco over his frames. "They suspected you would likely take a stand, based on your experiences in the war."

"This was all orchestrated," Draco whispered, the words ringing through his head with a startling clarity. "Avance must have thought they could force my hand and push me to Ascend."

"At which point," Bergen surmised, his voice grim, "they could take the affiliation. And without the Lunae Ortus, without the affiliation—Nocturnus is primed to fall for good."

The reality felt cold in his chest, and Draco was nauseated by the truth of it all. Staring at his council, a furrow in his brow, he breathed, "A trap. This was all a trap—and we walked right into it."

* * *

Hermione leaned on the threshold of the door that divided her quarters from Malfoy's and hesitated. After the council meeting several hours prior, he had retreated and she hadn't seen or heard from him since—but the crescent mark at her wrist was throbbing, and the tightness in her chest had pushed her to seek him out.

Merlin knew, she wouldn't have taken the news well if it were her—although technically, it may extend to her as well, since the pair of them were so inextricably bonded. Idly, she wondered if this was the point where she should regret marrying Draco Malfoy without years of proper consideration—but all she could think about was the look on his face when Elias and Glenneth had pieced it all together.

Releasing a sigh, she tapped on the door. "Malfoy? Can I come in?" When there was no answer, she knocked again—and then with a surreptitious glance around, she tried the knob. The door was unlocked.

If he had meant to keep her out, surely he would have warded the door. Taking that as evidence she was allowed to enter his quarters, she slipped through the door, venturing into the sitting area. It was empty—not that she was expecting him to be sitting there ignoring her.

Dragging her bottom lip between her teeth, she ventured towards his bedroom—every step was uncharted territory, and even though they were married, her heart quaked in her chest. When he had been troubled in France, he'd gravitated towards the balcony—as she'd seen him do in England as well, and she stepped through the double doors onto the terrace; curiously, he was still absent.

But something within her pushed her forward, the feel of her magic reaching for his, and distantly she heard his voice. "Granger."

A spiralling staircase stood at the far end of the terrace, and a smile tugged at her lips as she made her way up the tight passageway, but her eyes widened when she reached the top. Malfoy was seated on the roof of the Manor, his expression tight as he stared into the vastness of the night sky, dotted with stars and a thin sliver of the moon.

Lost for words when he glanced her way, she made a face and muttered, "You're on the roof."

"Yes, Granger," he drawled, "I am on the roof."

Chewing her lip, she asked, "What if you fall?"

"Then I'll die."

Hermione couldn't tell whether he was being facetious, but she reached a hand out into the darkness ahead; her hand passed through the air, unhindered by protective wards. It was several stories to the ground, and she did her best not to look down.

"It's unsafe, really—"

"Granger." His lips twitched. "Either take a seat or fuck off, yeah?"

As she dropped down beside him, pulling her knees into her chest to keep a safe distance from the steeper slope of the roof, she noticed he was fiddling with the silver coronet he wore at the bonding ceremony. His eyes were fixed down on the intricately forged metal, and he huffed a sigh. "Can you believe, for the first time in my life, I thought I was doing the right thing?"

"If it helps," she whispered, "I thought you were doing the right thing, too. I wouldn't have gone along with it otherwise."

"When as it turns out," he went on, his voice expressionless, "it was all some elaborate scheme to draw me out. I wonder how you factored in with their plans."

"They sent that letter attempting to warn me off," Hermione pointed out, frowning. "But now, even that feels like it may have been insincere."

He tossed the coronet up into the air, spinning above him, and when Hermione flinched, he snatched it out of the air. "Most likely because our combined powers make me a stronger Lunae Ortus than if I'd selected some idle, simple girl for my Lunae Amor."

Releasing an even breath as she stared into the night sky, she said, "Here are some reasons why this isn't as bad as it initially sounds."

"Of course you—"

"Let me speak," she hissed. Malfoy fell silent, suitably chastised, and eyed her with a hint of humour in his face. "So let's suppose this is all true, even if some of it feels like a stretch, and let's say Avance is a contemporary of this Alba group and are actually only doing all of this to kill you and take your lunar powers."

Huffing a breath, he rolled his eyes with exaggeration but remained silent.

Hermione breathed, "They don't _know_." When he mutely lifted a brow, she elaborated. "They think we've been traipsing around France because of all this creature policy—and we have to assume they've had eyes on us this whole time and could have taken you out if they wanted to engage—but they don't know that Bergen's discovered all of this. We can find a way to work this all to our advantage. _You_ have the affiliation, not them." Frowning, she traced a pattern on the roof below her and added, "I know we didn't want to consider the thought of war unless it was a last resort situation."

"But," he interrupted, voice soft, "they've initiated _all_ of this with the full intent of war."

"It just isn't through the collapse of French society that will do it," Hermione mused. Shaking her head, she added, "Although they sure don't seem to care who they step on to make their point, do they?"

Thinking of the kidnapped centaurs, the vampires pushed from their homes, and the activists prepared to rise up against the French Ministry, Hermione felt cold in her very being.

Malfoy's voice was quiet. "Alba have always been willing to do whatever it takes to get to Nocturnus. It only compounds the pressure on the situation here—what can we do to help the creature populations when Avance is waiting for their chance to kill me?"

"I don't even remember coming across Alba in the journals," she admitted, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

"The mentions were vague and infrequent," he explained, peering once more at his silver crown. "The history between Alba and Nocturnus is rife and tumultuous—and bloody."

With a slow nod, she murmured, "The ancient enemies you were referring to, after your stag party."

He gave a low snort. "Ironic now, isn't it?" Running a hand through his hair, he dropped his head forward. "I don't even know how to begin to deal with any of this."

"If they wanted us dead," Hermione hedged, "they had plenty of chances to do it while we were in France this past week."

The bridge of his nose pulled into a wrinkle when he looked back up. "It won't be that easy. They'll want to have fun with it, I'm sure—either that, or they want to wait until the affiliation reaches its full strength. I'm only just learning how to control it. And if it's truly as powerful as everyone says—as to drive others to murder in order to claim it—its strength must have to be built up."

"So, time," Hermione said, quietly. "We have time on our side—at least for now."

"Time enough to bring down Avance and Alba and any other bloody group who thinks they can take what we have," he said, a cold fury emanating beneath the words. The palm of his hand shimmered as his expression darkened, and Hermione watched as faint sparkles rose from the tips of his fingers. Casting her a grimace, he swept the Lunae crown atop his pale locks, sparkling with the cold light of the moon. Staring at the ancient magic accumulating in his palm, he breathed, "If Avance wants the lunar affiliation—they're going to get it."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thaaaanks for reading. Your lovely words have been so wonderful and uplifting, and I'm so thrilled to hear you're enjoying the story. I hope you're all hanging in there.

Alpha and beta [distance] hugs to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	13. Chapter 13

Stacks of Nocturnus journals surrounded Hermione as she took hasty notes at the small table in her sitting area, her legs folded beneath her as she sat on the plush carpet. A knock sounded on the open doorframe into Malfoy's quarters—they had taken to leaving the door open since she had found him on the roof several nights prior.

"It's open; you don't need to knock," she said, idly turning the page without looking up. Scratching her temple, she flipped back several more.

"Ah," Malfoy said; she presumed he had entered the room judging by where his voice came from. "Desperately scouring for information on Alba, I imagine."

Rapidly tapping her quill on the table, she mused, "You know me so well."

He was silent for a long moment, which gave her time to locate the reference she'd been searching for. Fleetingly, she thought he might have left her to her task, but his voice sounded again. "I did want to talk to you about something, if you could spare a minute of your time."

Scrunching up her face, Hermione set down her quill and belatedly dragged her eyes from the page. "What is it?"

Crossing the room, Malfoy dropped into the seat on the couch where her back rested; resigning herself to a break, she pushed up to sit alongside him, turning towards him with a leading stare.

"Bergen thinks we should go to Italy," he said without preamble, and Hermione blinked several times.

"That's fine." Nodding, she went on, "I think it's a good idea too. If Alba originated in Italy to thwart the ancient Nocturnus Order—I mean, literally, they're named after the sunrise, for Merlin's unoriginal sake—it makes sense. Let me know when—"

"Alone." Dropping his chin, Malfoy stared at her. "Bergen and I—and maybe a few guards. No contingent, no loud announcement of our presence. We do not want Avance or Alba or whatever the fuck to know we're onto them. We'll need to take precautions, and I need you to keep things running as usual on this end. The fewer people even know I'm gone, the better."

Worrying her lower lip, she nodded after a moment. As much as she was interested in learning more alongside him, it made sense. If Avance so much as caught wind of their interest in Italy, the element of surprise that was currently one of their only advantages would be lost. She gave a voracious nod. "Yes, of course. That makes sense."

Expression stoic, he gazed at her for a long moment. "Are you sure? You aren't upset?"

"I'd like to come," she said, voice quiet. "Of course I would—we're in this together. But I understand that means that sometimes we'll have different responsibilities."

"I want you to come, too," he drawled. "I thought we could visit some of the old Nocturnus castles someday in Italy. But the timing isn't right. Not if we mean to keep under the radar."

"We'll see the castles," she breathed, something hitching in her throat at the thought that he wanted her with him. "I'm here with you all the way. And if that means holding the fort for now, I will hold the fort. But you need to promise me you and Bergen will be careful."

His grey eyes were heated when they met hers, a hint of a crooked smile pulling at his lips. "You know, you were the best Lunae Amor I could have chosen."

Nudging him in the shoulder, she breathed, "I know."

Grinning, he mockingly shoved her, catching her wrist when she reached for him in retaliation. His fingers coiled around her wrist, and he whispered, "You don't need to be a cocky shite about it."

His fingers grazed the crescent mark at her wrist, and the magic of the bonds chased through her, escalating her heart rate. As if feeling the same, his eyes flashed and darkened, and her skin felt warm under his touch. In an instant, the air between them filled with an unfamiliar tension, and Hermione was unable to tear her gaze from his.

Finally she swallowed, uncertain, and said, "There was something I wanted to talk to you about, too. And don't you dare give me that look I know you're going to give me—I gave my notice at Flourish and Blotts."

He gave her the look.

Huffing an irritated sigh, Hermione wrenched her wrist free of his hold, unwilling to give in to whatever strange magic was pulsing beneath her flesh while they needed to have a conversation.

"This is too important." Shifting on the couch, she turned to face him, careful to keep distance between them. "And the owner was upset with me anyways, for dragging your guards along every day, and I don't think he was keen to keep me on… when I told him I was quitting he said he didn't need me to stay on through two weeks."

Face blank, Malfoy rested his elbow on the back of the couch. "I'm glad you came to that conclusion on your own."

"Thank you for not pushing," she allowed, appreciating his lack of smugness over the situation.

His fingers grazed the back of her hand where it sat on the couch. "I understand why it mattered so much to you," he said, "and you know it was never about pushing you to be some proper aristocrat."

"I know." Twisting her hand, she caught his and entwined their fingers. Something about even simple contact with him always set her heart at ease, and while she knew it was related to the bond, she knew that the connection between them would never push her beyond her own comfort—it would only exacerbate what already existed.

Dragging her closer, he slung an arm around the back of the couch; hesitant, Hermione tucked herself into his side. "When are you leaving for Italy?"

"Early in the morning," he said, and from so close, she could feel the low rumble of his words in his chest. "Bergen's making the arrangements as we speak."

Glancing up at him, her lips twitching, she said, "You didn't promise to be careful."

His grey eyes met hers, something behind his irises softening as he adjusted his hold around her shoulders. "I'll be careful." She jumped, startled, when he pressed his lips to her temple. "You be careful here. And alert me instantly if anything happens."

Hermione whispered, "I will."

Shifting against his side, she allowed her eyelids to flutter shut in the comfort of his embrace; it was strange, how quickly she had come to feel at home with Draco Malfoy, but he had been by her side through such a drastic series of changes. While she could feel the bonds pulsing distantly in her veins, there was more to it. They could relate to one another in a way that she didn't feel with anyone else—not anymore. Harry and Ron had their path, and hers had become such a volatile, tumultuous road in the span of a little over a month.

There was little sense in resisting the walls between them beginning to crumble, not when they would need to work together to get through everything they now faced. Malfoy hadn't been cold or malicious, and while she couldn't so easily forget everything that had happened between them in the past, it would only serve to hinder what they needed to do.

Their strength against Avance was in the bonds between them.

After an extended silence, wherein Hermione's anxious thoughts were lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he released a sigh, his fingers trailing along her arm. "I should get some sleep—long day tomorrow."

"Of course." Uncertain, Hermione extracted herself from his hold, inexplicably reeling from the loss of contact and feeling instantly cold. Intent on breaking the thick tension, she teased, "You've kept me from my reading long enough."

Cracking a grin, he muttered, "You needed a break anyways." Despite her best efforts, a wide yawn escaped her, and she scowled when he snickered and rose to his feet.

Following him to the door that separated their living quarters, she pressed her lips into a thin smile. "I look forward to hearing what you find out. How long will you be gone?"

"A few days," he mused, staring down at her. "It's difficult to say for sure. Owl daily?"

Nodding, she leaned against the threshold. "If something goes wrong—get out."

"Never thought I'd see the day," he mused, his eyes sparkling, "when Hermione Granger cared if I lived or died."

"Prat," she huffed, "you also never thought I'd marry—"

Her words were interrupted by the swift press of his mouth against hers—she froze, shocked, before gently returning the soft pressure. Eyes falling shut, she melted into him for a brief moment, her fingers grazing the curve of his jaw, before he drew back.

His grey eyes were darkened when they met hers, and his lips twitched with a smirk. "For luck," he breathed, dragging the tips of his fingers across her cheekbone, "and a little bit of just because."

Magic and something wholly visceral coursed through her below the surface of her skin, and Hermione found herself to be oddly breathless as she pressed her lips together and forced a thick swallow. His touch awoke something within her, and she nodded. "For luck, of course."

With a grimace, he muttered, "Something tells me I'm going to need it. Good night, Granger."

Unable to tear her gaze from his, she replied in a quick, breathy tone. "You know I'm not Granger anymore."

"I know." The bridge of his nose wrinkled. "But calling you Hermione still feels weird."

Her laugh sounded odd and out of place in the space between them, but she offered him a smile all the same. "Fine. Good night, Malfoy."

For a blink of a second, she thought his gaze flickered down to land on her mouth, and she felt her heart rate pick up again, but he only nodded and retreated into his quarters. She forced herself not to follow.

* * *

The Manor felt strangely empty in Malfoy's absence, despite that he had only left with Bergen the day before. Hermione had left the door into his quarters ajar, as it had been prior to his departure, but she didn't care for the invasion of his privacy that would go along with snooping.

She had been surprised, initially, to see his quarters were not a chromatic celebration of Slytherin house—and neither were they decorated in the deep midnight and silver of the Nocturnus Order. It was all done in tasteful blues and greys, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder whether he had furnished the rooms himself.

According to the marriage contract, she would one day share his bed to produce an heir, although the topic didn't specify whether she would actually live in the same space. The idea didn't roil in her stomach the same way it had at first—not after he had kissed her the night before he left for Italy.

Hermione had sent a vague and nondescript owl to find him the evening prior, careful to keep her letter bland in case it were to be intercepted. After preparing for her day the next morning, she decided to make her way to the Manor owlery to see if they were holding any mail for her. The initial threatening letter from Avance—which had taken on a more sinister meaning altogether after what they had learned in France—had heightened security on all incoming mail.

She wasn't keen on asking Podski or any of the other elves to pick up her letters for her, and with Malfoy in Italy, Hermione had spent the entire day before scouring Nocturnus journals—her brain needed a break, and her body needed to move.

It was infrequent that she visited the Nocturnus Wing of the Manor, and never had she done so without Malfoy, having only ventured that way for council meetings after the initial arrangement of their contract.

One of the Nocturnus guards who had followed her to Flourish and Blotts, Ben, was in the owlery, and he jolted to attention upon seeing her, back instantly straightening at his post. "Miss Amor," he said with a sharp nod. "You've had some owls."

"Thanks, Ben." Offering him a smile, she collected a pair of scrolls. "Nothing threatening, I hope."

He cracked a grin. "Nothing to that effect, Miss Amor."

"Hermione will do," she murmured, distracted, as she unrolled the first letter. Guilt crept through her when she recognized Harry's untidy scrawl and realized she'd been a delinquent friend since bailing on him the night they had gone to the Three Broomsticks. Even worse was the fact that he had extended a proverbial olive branch and invited her and Malfoy to join him and Daphne for dinner. She would need to politely decline or postpone without revealing the fact that Malfoy wasn't in the country.

The second letter was written in the neat script of her husband, and she tried to convince herself her heart wasn't beating any faster when she noted he had addressed the letter to Hermione.

Her interest dropped off almost instantly when the letter contained no information of value and was little more than a technical report. Clearly he couldn't reveal anything about the trip in case the owl was intercepted, and she wasn't certain what she was even hoping for.

Brushing the disappointment aside, she wrote a quick response to Harry's letter and sent it off with one of the Malfoy owls before parting with a quick farewell to the guards.

Back in the corridor, her mind drifted elsewhere as she walked, and she nearly collided into a young woman around her own age. The girl blinked, eyes widening, before she quickly stepped back and ducked her head into a bow. "Lunae Amor—I am so sorry; I didn't see you in time."

"Oh," Hermione said, startled. Waving a hand, she added, "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." She didn't recognize the girl at all and given she wasn't dressed in a Nocturnus uniform, she likely had no connection with the guard or the council. Most of the Order families had gone home weeks ago after the bonding ceremony. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"My name is Cynthia, Lunae," the girl responded, folding her hands at her front. A hint of a smile pulled at her lips. "I was looking for Hugo Bergen."

With a grimace, Hermione deadpanned, "Hugo invited you into the Manor?" Irritation caused her to bristle at the thought of it, despite that the girl had caused no harm. As tight as security had become in the Manor and beyond it, Hugo thought he was fine to invite girls over. For a fleeting instant, she understood Malfoy's distrust of the man.

Chewing on her lower lip, Cynthia nodded; Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. "I'm not certain which is his room, but the council quarters are down the hall and to the left."

"Thank you!" Cynthia exclaimed with a wide smile. "Oh, and I love your hair like that!"

Blinking as the girl made her way in the inferred direction, Hermione tugged at her curls where they fell loose as usual. Ducking back into the owlery, she frowned. "Ben, did you know Hugo's invited a girl over? Does he do this regularly?"

Scratching the back of his neck, Ben asked, "Cynthia? Or the other one."

"Other one?" Hermione exclaimed. How many women did Hugo have coming and going? "It was Cynthia."

Ben grinned. "Cynthia Bergen, Lunae. She's been properly vetted. Hugo's sister."

"Oh." Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. "Too many Bergens. What do you mean about the other one?"

"The other one is Hugo's girlfriend from Sweden. Madeline." Judging by the look on Ben's face, Hermione could only imagine how Madeline looked. When she cocked an unimpressed brow, Ben straightened, his expression stoic. "Madeline has also been approved to enter the Manor."

"By the Lunae Ortus?"

"Yes."

Sighing, Hermione nodded. "Very well. Thanks Ben—I think I've been on edge with him gone." It felt odd to admit, but the guards were under strict oaths around privacy, so she added, "Don't tell him I said that."

She felt a certain kinship with Ben, anyways—he was one of the only British guards, and his jovial mannerisms always put her at ease. He whistled and said, "Didn't hear you say nothin', Miss Amor."

Making her way back to the door, she smiled and fluttered her fingers in a wave. "I have lunch with the Lady Malfoy—and I'll be back to send another owl later."

Plastering another wide grin on his features, Ben returned to his post.

* * *

Carding a hand through his hair as he gazed into the golden vestiges of the late setting sun, Draco frowned. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

Elias Bergen nodded, referencing a small parchment notepad. "This is the vineyard where we are meant to meet with my contact." Casting Draco a look, he added, "It had better be the right place—I spent all afternoon warding it."

Despite his best efforts at a smile, Draco couldn't manage a laugh. Not in the face of the dark stone building before them. Squaring his shoulders, he adjusted his hood. They had dressed as secretively as possible—for Draco, that included hiding his distinctive platinum hair—and were shrouded under a veritable cocktail of concealment charms.

"I am told," Bergen said, venturing forwards, "there is a back entrance into the basement."

The vineyard looked like something out of a horror tale, and as if it hadn't actually produced anything of merit in a decade. Draco made a mental note not to drink the wine. Muffling their steps, they made their way around the main compound towards a small rundown supply shed. "There," Draco hissed, ducking behind the building.

The continued stealth of their operation in Italy was of the utmost importance if he didn't want anyone—namely anyone with connections to Avance—to realize they were investigating.

There was a gap in the ground just beyond the corner of the compound, and if they weren't looking they might have missed it. A narrow stairwell descended from outside of the building towards the opposite corner. Bergen hurried ahead, and securing his hood once more, Draco followed into the darkness.

A single torch lit the passageway, casting orange shadows dancing on the dirt walls—the sense of foreboding in the pit of Draco's stomach escalated as they continued deeper into the earth. But it wasn't long until the stairway ended, opening into a wider room with the same dirty stone walls as the outside of the compound. Dim torch lighting flickered inconsistently, sparse enough that entire sections of the room were left in darkness. From somewhere within, a steady drip of water echoed off the walls.

Under his breath, Draco growled, "This had better be legitimate."

"It is," Bergen said, his voice hushed. "The information will be worth it."

Navigating around a pile of old kegs, Draco realised the room was larger than he had originally anticipated, and a series of channels twisted off the main room. Round lacquered tables stood at odd spots throughout, circled with torn booths that had seen better days.

A lone occupant sat at the furthest table, the most obscured in darkness, and Draco drew in a long, steadying breath. His magic tingled beneath the surface of his skin, alerting him of his own unease, and almost instinctively, he swept his thumb against the crescent at his wrist. If he didn't return alive, Granger would never forgive him for getting her into this mess then getting himself killed.

Bergen ventured forward; cursing under his breath, Draco followed suit, and the pair of them slipped into the booth. The man's face was partially hidden beneath his hood, but Draco could just make out the scruff on his jaw; his hands were filthy where they laid on the table.

But with a snap of his fingers, three tankards of ale appeared. Skeptical, Draco eyed his, expression carefully blank, until the man took a swig of his own.

Bergen broke the silence. "You have information for us."

No introductions, then. Draco wondered how Bergen knew the man—or whether he was merely a contact of a contact.

In a gruff voice, the man ventured, "Our business is our own tonight."

Clenching his jaw, Draco nodded in acquiescence. "We seek the truth of the connection between Avance and the ancient society Alba."

"The connection is simple." The man took another long swig of his ale; despite his deep unease, Draco took a pull of his own when Bergen did as well. The man had a thick Italian accent. "The leader of Avance has roots in Italy—her family was long ago prominent within Alba."

"Her," Bergen bit out. "What is her name?"

With a glance around the empty room, the man huffed and said, "She is known as Cosette."

"Cosette," Draco repeated, leaning forward in his seat. "What are her motivations? Why France if her roots are here in Italy?"

It was Bergen that answered. "Because of Minister Arcand."

The man nodded before taking another swig of his ale, his tankard already half empty. "Claude Arcand is a man with few scruples. He bought many favours to rise to the top of the French Ministry—many of them from Cosette. When she needed a public figure to carry out her aims, she had enough dirt on Arcand that he could not refuse. And he was loud enough to reach the right ears."

"Why now?" Draco whispered, leaning forward in his seat. "Why has Alba remained hidden all these years? What are they planning?"

It was dangerous territory, to risk revealing himself as the Lunae Ortus when Draco wasn't aware of how much this man already knew. But whether Bergen had dirt of his own or if he had bought the man's silence, they needed to learn everything they could about this Cosette.

"Alba seeks what it has always desired—the lunar affiliation of the Nocturnus Order. They're patient, always have been—many generations they have remained hidden in the past. But always, they have revealed themselves with caution and purpose." A rogue grin crossed his face. "You can be assured whatever motivations have driven Alba from hiding will be strong."

Draco exchanged a brief glance with Bergen. His adviser only frowned, turning to their informant once more; he asked in a low voice, "How do we get to Cosette?"

At that, the man laughed. "You do not find Cosette. She finds you."

The expression on Bergen's face was grim.

* * *

**Author's Note: ** Thank you all so much for reading. Your kind words honestly mean more than I can say during these times, and I hope you're all keeping well and safe. I'd love to hear your thoughts on everything that's transpiring!

Alpha love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347; beta hearts to ravenslight. Go check them out if you haven't already!


	14. Chapter 14

While the trip to Italy had been, in some ways, fruitful, if left them with more questions than answers. Their contact in the basement of the decrepit vineyard had only been so helpful before he had no more answers. But even so—they had gone to Italy to learn the truth about Avance, and they had learned half of it.

Draco still had no context for why an Alba contemporary had formed at all and why they had managed to orchestrate his Ascension—aside from the most obvious answer, which was that Cosette wanted to claim the lunar affiliation for herself. He wasn't certain on the specifics of it, but the impression he'd been given was that such a thing would be congruent with his own demise. And if the affiliation was lost, there would be no power left in the Nocturnus Order.

If Alba and Nocturnus had always been mortal enemies, it was reason enough. But the timing was strange, and Draco couldn't wrap his head around it.

He, Bergen, and their small contingent of guards had returned to England the next morning—but not before making one additional stop. If they would be returning to Italy—and it was likely—they would need a base of operations so they wouldn't be required to sneak around under disillusionment and darkness. Bergen had claimed one of the old Nocturnus castles and set up the appropriate wards they would require to maintain secrecy.

Despite the trip only lasting a couple days, it had been fresh off the disappointing week in France, and Draco's head was still reeling with everything they had learned. So when he reached the Manor, although he was exhausted, his first step was to locate Granger.

"Hey," he muttered, peering into her sitting quarters from their adjoining door.

Glancing up, Granger's eyes widened in surprise and a smile crossed her face. "You're back." In an instant, her expression fell cautiously blank. "Did you learn anything?"

He rubbed at his eyes, rolling out his neck; sleep hadn't come easily the night before. "Come for a walk on the grounds with me?"

Setting aside her book, she nodded. She wore a long-sleeved grey dress—Draco noted she had taken to dressing nicer since the bonding ceremony—and she rose to walk with him from the room without question.

Stifling a yawn with one hand, he slipped the other in his pocket, his steps lacking the surety they usually carried.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyeing him closely as they descended to the main floor of the wing.

"Fine," he muttered, "tired. Didn't sleep much."

"You don't look ready to throw yourself off the roof."

Rolling his eyes, he nudged her gently in the side. Once they were outside and a good distance from any potential prying ears Draco cast a few privacy spells. Typically the only people in the Manor were the elves, the council, and the guard, but he didn't want the wrong people knowing too much too soon.

Without preamble, he began. "The leader of Avance is a woman named Cosette. She's acting under the interests of the ancient group Alba because her family has deep roots in the society." Hesitating, he glanced at Granger, but she was listening intently. "We don't know her exact purpose or the logic behind her timing. But she's using Arcand as a mouthpiece because he's highly visible in a position of power on the continent, and because he owes her a debt for some sort of assistance provided when he was making a bid for the Ministry."

"So Arcand is or isn't involved with Avance?"

Draco frowned, considering the question for a moment. "I think we have to assume his own interests are the interests of Avance and Cosette. He won't want to bite the hand that's feeding him—not when that hand is so powerful."

Nodding, she folded her arms across her chest. "Noted. But we also need to consider that Arcand could be swayed if he's only—I don't know, being blackmailed or manipulated."

"Good point."

Granger stopped on the pathway through the gardens, chewing on her bottom lip with her shoulders tense. "I don't like it. We don't have a path forward, and it sounds like we have no way of accessing this Cosette person. If it's even a real name."

"All the contact said was that we don't find Cosette, she finds us."

To his surprise, Granger released a small giggle. "She sounds ominous."

Lifting a brow, Draco drawled, "She sounds like the person who wants to kill me and destroy our order."

"But honestly," she went on, waving a hand. "I think she's underestimating you. And us—and it sounds like Bergen knows a lot of people."

"It was funny," Draco admitted, chuckling, "seeing him dart around in the darkness in casual street clothes. Without the proper robes and everything." When she tittered again, he added, "And we have a base in Italy now that will be undetected from the outside. So we can come and go as needed."

Granger nodded, falling into step as they carried on once more. "That might prove handy."

Ducking his chin into a nod he turned to face her. "How did everything go while I was gone? Did you do anything exciting?"

For a moment, Granger considered the question, then offered him a grimace. "Harry and Daphne invited us over for dinner." When Draco made a face, she added, "And I met Cynthia Bergen."

Shaking his head, Draco ran a hand through his hair. Dropping down onto a bench in the gardens he said, "I met Cynthia during the open call. She was… effervescent." Shrugging, he added, "I thought Bergen might have been hoping I'd select her for the Lunae Amor, but he never pushed it."

As Granger took the seat next to him, he felt a tug at his eyelids in the warmth of the air. "Interesting. I wonder whether he didn't—"

Her words were cut off as Draco rested his head on her shoulder, allowing his eyelids to flutter shut. A soft sound of mirth reached his ears, and her fingers gently threaded through his hair for a moment.

Sleep pulled, insistent, and the last thing he heard was Granger's flippant, "You really are becoming nocturnal."

* * *

Malfoy had a tendency to be a quiet—if not silent—neighbour. Which suited Hermione perfectly fine, because while a part of her liked knowing he was nearby, she also appreciated silence when she was trying to work.

Ever since they had returned from France, and more so since Malfoy had gone to Italy to learn more about Avance, Hermione had spent the majority of her waking hours scouring the old Nocturnus journals as far back as she could find them. Malfoy had inferred the history between Nocturnus and Alba was poorly documented, but she was determined to find anything that could possibly help. Some days, with the ominous cloud of impending war hovering over her life once again, it felt like all she could do to keep her head on straight.

So it was surprising, on Friday evening, when voices wafted through the open door between their sitting quarters. Glancing up from her studies, Hermione squinted, trying to determine whose vaguely familiar voice she had heard.

Moments later, Malfoy's head came through the doorway. Flashing her a grin, he asked, "Come over for a drink?"

She set the journal aside with a frown. "You're drinking? Who's with you?"

"Blaise and Theo." Taking a step into the room, he added, "And yes—I'm taking one night away from stressing about the premature end of my life. Are you going to join me or not?"

A surprised laugh chased from her mouth as she shook her head. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?" Rising to her feet, she paused. "Does this mean I'm allowed to invite friends into the Manor?"

Though his eyes tightened, his lips twitched. "Technically, they need to be approved by the guard."

"Of course." Folding her arms, she took a step closer into his space. When he didn't move away, she smiled, and by the expression on his face, she wondered whether they had already been drinking. "But once they're approved—"

"Yes, Granger," he sighed, "you can have Potter and Weasley over. But keep in mind, Nocturnus business is off limits, even tonight with my friends. And when we have more important things to attend to, there isn't time for play."

Rolling her eyes, she breathed, "I'll be sure it suits your schedule, oh great and powerful, all-knowing Lunae Ortus."

"Overkill," he drawled, tugging her hand into his, grey eyes sparkling. "Clearly, I'm not all-knowing."

Hermione gazed at him for a long moment, twining her fingers between his, and dropped her head to the side. "It's nice to see you smile for once. You've been excessively broody."

Scoffing, he murmured, "Excuse me, I've been trying to figure out how to stay alive." He jabbed two of his fingers into her ribs, and she jumped, catching hold of his wrist. When she didn't immediately release his hand, his lips curled into a smirk. "Merlin, Granger, save it for later; we have company."

In an instant, she released him, stepping away and withdrawing her other hand, feeling a deep flush seep into her cheeks. Malfoy barked a laugh and tugged on one of her curls, muttering, "I was only joking."

"I know," she breathed, trying to quell the anxious chase of her heart as she pushed past him and through the door into his room.

Zabini and Nott paused their conversation, staring at her, before Hermione smiled and took a seat on Malfoy's sofa. When he poured her a drink and took the seat beside her, barely leaving any space between them, she couldn't quite manage to steady her racing pulse. She wasn't even certain whether it had anything to do with the bonds; recalling the way his kiss the night before he went to Italy had left her both intrigued and wanting more, she realised she was blushing again.

"So Granger," Zabini began, taking a sip of his whisky. "Or I suppose it's Malfoy now."

"Either's fine," she said, oddly breathy. "Malfoy still calls me Granger."

Nott barked a laugh. "So basically nothing's changed."

Feeling Malfoy's gaze sear into her, she cast him a quick glance. He turned away and pronounced, "Some things have changed. Others…"

"Some things will probably never change," Hermione teased.

"Like Granger being a swot," Malfoy stated, gesturing with his glass.

Her eyes tightened as she scowled at him. "Or Malfoy being a prat."

Grey eyes flashed when they met hers, and his smirk widened. Taking a sip of his whisky, he didn't look away; his knee brushed against hers.

"Well then," Nott announced loudly, "is it uncomfortable in here or is it just me?"

Zabini cleared his throat. "It's uncomfortable."

Flushing deeper still, Hermione looked away, shifting over so she was pressed into the corner of the sofa. Taking a swig of her own drink, she forced her attention away from Malfoy's proximity and turned to his friends. "What have you both been doing since leaving Hogwarts?"

"I work with Puddlemere United," Zabini said with a nod. "In promotions."

Leaning forward in his seat, Nott said, "I'm a healer. With a specialty in potioneering. Nothing on Draco's mastery, of course, but it's well enough."

Making a face, Hermione set her drink down on the end table. "What mastery?"

Malfoy froze, lifting a brow. "Hadn't mentioned that part."

Gaping at him, she asked, "You have a mastery?"

"Potions," he said, frowning. "It isn't really a big deal. For a while I was considering opening my own apothecary, and then all of this happened and turned out a bit more important."

"Why didn't I know you achieved a mastery?" she asked, staring hard at him. Something twinged in her chest that he'd never thought to mention such an accomplishment. It made her wonder what else she didn't know about the man who had become her husband.

"It hasn't seemed all that important in the face of things," he said with a shrug, slinging an arm across the back of the sofa, barely missing her shoulders. "This is my life now. What, did you think I just sat around all day before the Ascension? You wouldn't have known because I completed it through correspondence with a potions master in Spain." Taking a sip of his drink, he added, "None of the masters in Britain were interested in working with me."

"Which was bollocks, of course," Nott said lightly. "Given how talented of a potioneer you've always been."

"Yeah," Malfoy bit out with a chuckle. "So talented—especially the time I blew up a batch of Living Death all over you."

Zabini burst into a boisterous laugh. "I remember that—the look on your face!"

Malfoy scowled and rose to pour himself another drink. "How was I to know what sort of adverse side effects it was going to have while incomplete?"

Waving his hands as if to announce his presence, Nott said, "I woke up four days later and all was well."

"I was not well," Malfoy interjected, "not after the barrage of stinging jinxes you sent my way."

Nott shook his head and flashed Hermione a grin. "I missed four days of coursework and he didn't even bother copying any of the notes." In an aside, he added, "You understand, right?"

"Oh," she snickered, "absolutely. I would have been furious."

Flicking her in the side of the head with his pointer finger, Malfoy muttered, "Traitor."

Swatting his hand away, Hermione found herself grinning. When he met her gaze again, his eyes suffused with a newly familiar warmth, she couldn't quite control the fluttering of nerves in her stomach.

* * *

Several hours later, Hermione yawned widely, sleep and whisky tugging at her eyelids. Nott and Zabini had just departed through the Floo, and Hermione rose to her feet, tripping over the leg of the sofa. Snorting, Malfoy stifled a yawn with one hand as he pressed his eyes tightly shut.

"I'll walk you home," he said, voice slurred, "like a proper husband."

"Home." She giggled. "Through the door."

"Exactly." Stopping to rest against the door frame, he eyed her with his chin low. "You know, Granger—Hermione—I don't want you to be unhappy."

Frowning, she said, "I'm not unhappy."

"With me." Lifting a pale brow, he stared down at her. "I don't want to be a shite husband. Even if it isn't really… a proper marriage."

Blinking up at him, she said, "I don't think you're a shite husband."

"Okay but," he said, holding up a hand. "We've not been married a month, and I've put your life at risk—"

"My life has been at risk plenty," she objected, "and technically, my life was already threatened before the bonding—"

"That's what I mean," he groaned, pressing his face into the wooden frame. "You don't deserve to get murdered on my account."

"This is cheerful," Hermione muttered under her breath. "Maybe you ought to get some sleep, Malfoy."

He released a long sigh, rubbing at his eyes. "Yeah. You're right." When he planted a hand on her arm, heavier than necessary, Hermione wondered whether the gesture was an effort at casual contact or because he needed the assistance standing upright. She led him through the door into her sitting quarters and turned to face him with a smile.

"Thank you for walking me home," she teased, humour pulling at her lips. "I appreciate it." Her smile faltered, and she added, "I can't believe you didn't tell me you earned a potions mastery. I haven't even seen you brew anything since I've been here."

Looking uncomfortable, he said, "I wish they hadn't brought it up. It hasn't exactly been the most important thing to share."

"But it's brilliant," she whispered. "I actually debated looking further into potions at one point, but I went the path of the Ministry instead."

"I have a lab," he said with an offhand gesture. "I'll show it to you sometime. And I'm sorry you had to leave your job at the Ministry over me. See—shite husband."

Shaking her head, she teased, "Stop that. You're not a shite husband at all—look, you've delivered me safely to my room."

"If I knew, before the Ascension, what we've learned, I wouldn't have Ascended," he said, the words clipped as he meandered idly into her sitting room, picking up one of the journals from the stack on her coffee table.

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," she eased, moving into her bedroom to slip out of her jumper, leaving her in a tank top.

"What?" he hissed, following to the threshold. "What in the name of Merlin does that mean?"

Snickering, Hermione shook her head. "Muggle phrase, I guess. It means you did what you thought was best. And if you hadn't, Minister Arcand would have kept on making life miserable for all those beings in France. So think of how many lives you've affected in a positive way by Ascending."

"We haven't solved the problem in France," he deadpanned. "If anything, we made it worse by poking around."

"Look at it this way." Rubbing at her bleary eyes, she settled cross-legged on top of her bedding. "Avance thinks we're investigating the creature situation in France. We need them to keep believing we're interested in the goings on in the lives of centaurs and vampires—and nothing else."

Leaning against the doorway, he folded his arms with a smirk. "While behind the scenes, we're figuring out a way to knock down Alba for good."

"Avance, Alba," Hermione said, waving a hand. "Sounds to me like they're almost one and the same."

"For our purposes," he said, sweeping a hand through his hair, "they are. So… creature policy. Merlin, I'm too drunk to think this through right now."

Dropping her head into her hands, she breathed, "Same. We'll figure it all out… tomorrow."

"All of it," he drawled. "All at once.'

Hermione smiled at him. "Right. All of it. Who knows—between the two of us, we're pretty smart. Stranger things have happened."

"You're the smart one," he mused, taking up a seat at the end of her bed. Hesitating, she eyed him with caution, but he kept his distance, even as he shot her a wink. "I'm the opportunistic one."

"So that's why you've helped yourself into my bed," she teased, trying to quell the hasty rhythm of her heart.

At his sudden wide, boisterous yawn, Hermione couldn't help a bright laugh from escaping as she threw her head back. Covering his mouth, he shook his head. "Excuse me, I'm just so tired." Eyes sparkling, he added, "Exhausting work, being such a proper gentleman as to walk a lady home."

Unable to stem her laughter, Hermione choked out, "I suppose I'm meant to ask you to stay over, then." Flashing him a grin, she added, "I like to see you have fun. You're so bloody serious all the time."

His expression sobered, and he said, "My life has been quite serious."

With a sad smile, she whispered, "That would be exhausting."

His fingers grazed the back of her hand where it rested on her knee. "It's nice, having someone to share the load—even if that's selfish of me to say."

"It isn't.

"It sort of is."

Hermione frowned. "I signed up for this, remember? I knew what it would entail."

Malfoy rested his hand on hers, and his head fell to the side. "I meant it, when I said you were the best choice." Then he shifted, making to stand. "And I was kidding, of course. I wouldn't invite myself into your bed just because—"

"You can stay," she interrupted, voice breathy and soft. "If you want to—and if you keep to your side."

Freezing, he stared at her, a heavy tension in the set of his shoulders. "I wouldn't infringe—I'm being a gentleman, remember?" Cracking a grin, he added in a low voice, "Maybe one day that won't be the case, but for now."

"One day," she whispered, tugging him closer by the hand that held hers, "I won't want you to be."

Dragging her fingers up the curve of his jaw, she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His mouth was warm, and his breath tasted like whisky when she drew back; his eyes flashed a dark grey as he stared at her.

Not entirely willing to draw away, she coiled her fingers into the fine strands of hair at the back of his neck, and he ducked in again, kissing her with more insistence. When his tongue slipped through her parted lips and teased her own, Hermione couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped her throat.

Malfoy pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers, and his eyes fluttered open to find hers while one hand slid back along her jaw. Swallowing, he breathed, "You're drunk."

His tone was vague enough that she wasn't certain whether it was a statement or a question, and she replied, "_You're_ drunk."

Barking a laugh, he released her, relegating himself once more to the foot of the bed. "That's what I thought."

Her heart raced, stomach pulled into a twist, and a persistent sort of longing lingered in her core, but Hermione forced herself to stand. "I need the loo, and I have to get ready for sleep. You are welcome to do as you please." As she crossed the room, a little unsteady on her feet, Hermione could feel his stare sear into her and warmth swept through her, but she didn't dare look back.

When she returned, Malfoy was tucked beneath her covers, sound asleep.

* * *

**Author's** **Note: **I so appreciate every one of you for reading this little story and for your lovely feedback, and I hope you're all continuing to stay well and safe! I hope you enjoyed this chapter xoxo

Alpha and beta love to my wonderful team Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	15. Chapter 15

Draco awoke to a faceful of curls and a pounding headache in an unfamiliar room, and it took the entirety of a hazy, throbbing minute to recall what had happened the night before and how he had come to wind up in Granger's bed.

Vaguely, he could recall kissing her, but he didn't think anything else had happened. At least, he didn't think he had been so loaded that he would have blacked out the end of the night. While he stared blankly at the back of her head, wracking his memory, she turned to face him. They were closer than he'd perhaps realised, and his hand grazed her side before he shifted away.

Blinking several times, she swept her hair out of her face and huffed, "Shite."

Grimacing, Draco grumbled, "Good morning to you." He could feel the silk of Granger's sheets, cool against his bare chest, and he blew out a breath, checking to be sure he had shorts on. With a surge of relief, he climbed out of the bed, collecting his shirt and trousers from the floor. Sweeping a hand through his hair, he retreated, warm with the feel of Granger's stare lingering on him.

Moments later, he returned to her room; she was facing the ceiling, eyes pressed tightly shut, and he tossed her a vial of hangover draught. Inspecting the vial, she gave a long sigh. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Clicking his tongue, he muttered, "Potions mastery still good for something, as it turns out."

Without hesitation, Granger ingested the contents of the vial and huffed quietly, "The _potions mastery_. Forgot about that."

He wished he hadn't reminded her and left her once more to her devices, returning back to his room. While the potency of his own vial took hold, Draco jumped into the shower and went about preparing for his day. He would have to call a meeting with the rest of the council to determine the best way forward based on what he and Bergen learned in Italy—and how they would be facing the situation in France _without_ giving away all they had learned.

It would be of the utmost importance that Avance not realise they knew of the connection to Alba and their plans with regard to seizing the lunar affiliation. Which meant they would need to proceed with their original aims of thwarting Minister Arcand's anti-creature policy—at least as a front, should Avance be keeping as close an eye as he expected they were. Should Cosette be watching him, waiting for him to slip up. The thought caused his hand to curl at his side.

Nocturnus was widely regarded as archaic, even from within the Order—perhaps it was time to pursue some change of their own.

Granger knew plenty about policy from her time at the Ministry, and the thought of working with her didn't feel so far off anymore.

* * *

Nerves chased through her as Hermione found the entirety of the Nocturnus council staring at her. Malfoy's knee nudged hers beneath the table. "It doesn't hurt to gather a bit of public favour," she said, "and addressing the situation in France, for as much as it's been international news here in England, will do that. The British Ministry isn't doing anything to help—not that they _can_, particularly, with the bureaucracy of it all—and ideally we would like the Ministry here on our side, should we ever need anything. Hopefully, by taking some of the public pressure off of them, we'll gain their favour as well."

"Nocturnus has the influence," Malfoy cut in with a hint of a smile, "and the added benefit is that we'll be drawing Avance's attention to our public movements."

Elias Bergen nodded his head. "While in private, we're collecting knowledge on Cosette and Alba."

"I like Hermione's plan," Malfoy stated to the room at large; she felt a dusting of colour spread through her face. "We utilise whatever resources we can to locate and recover the kidnapped centaur population. Their war against the campaign of Avance has been widely publicised, and whatever we can do to act as a thorn in Arcand's side is a good thing. If we make his life enough of a living hell, he might think twice about proliferating Cosette's nonsense."

The frantic scratching of Oro's quill was the only sound in the room, and a thick tension hovered in the air.

Finally Bergen announced, "I will get my team on it straight away."

Dagomir leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Will we prepare a contingent to leave the country?"

Hesitating for a moment, Malfoy shook his head. "I don't think just yet. But soon." Running a hand through his hair, he dropped his head over the back of his seat. When he straightened once more, he looked Hermione in the eye. "This feels like one massive game of chess. We need patience and strategy; we need to plan several moves in advance. And when the moment is right…" He glanced away, swallowing. "Then we'll make our play."

With a gruff bark of laughter, Dagomir clapped his hands together. A smile drifted to Hugo's lips, and he gave an almost infinitesimal nod.

Every eye in the room was on Malfoy; a tight breath sat in Hermione's throat when he leaned forward in his seat. "We'll reconvene in a few days. For now, our priorities are the centaurs and _Cosette_." He said the name with a disdainful curl of his upper lip. "I need to know everything about what she's up to."

While Oro called the meeting to its conclusion, Hermione collected her notes and stowed them into her bag. Upon rising, she found Malfoy watching her. His lips twitched as the room emptied, and he said quietly, "Come with me? I want to try something."

Surprised, she nodded. No longer was it disconcerting how willing she was to go along with his suggestions, and the depth of her own burgeoning trust for him had simply integrated as part of her life. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he nodded to Oro and Glenneth as they left the room, and he proceeded to lead her down the corridor and into the throne room.

Startled, Hermione realized she hadn't been inside the throne room since they had still been working out the negotiations of the contract, and while that hadn't been all that long ago, it felt like ages with how rapidly everything in her life had changed.

Malfoy stepped up onto the dais before turning back to face her, taking her hand and assisting her up beside him. He swept the pad of his thumb across the crescent at her wrist, and Hermione could feel her magic flare to life beneath the contact. Idly, she asked, "Why is it we don't use the throne room?"

Considering for a moment, he released her wrist and took his seat in one of the matching thrones. "We don't really hold court very often. Keep in mind, generations of Lunaes ruled from this manor before my great-grandfather. Things have changed a lot. But I suppose if we wanted to, or if we ever had cause to, we could."

Sinking into the plush fabric of the other throne, Hermione smiled. "Last time I sat here I felt like a phony."

"Well," he drawled, "you certainly aren't now, Miss Lunae Amor." Turning to face her, he reached for her wrist once more. "I wanted to explore the magic of the bonds—if you don't mind."

A shiver crept down her spine at the thought of it—at the way the magic felt when it danced within her veins and awakened her soul. "I don't mind."

Malfoy was careful with her hand as he turned it within his so that her wrist was face-up. Watching her face to gauge her reaction, he pressed the tips of his fingers into the shimmering crescent. Hermione released a tight breath but held his stare. She could feel the magic come alive like a soft inhale, and when he pressed a bit harder, the bonds stirred quicker, rising with the pace of her heart.

After a moment, his expression shifted, and he grazed the mark with his thumb in a gentle caress; she could hear his sharp inhale, and it matched the way her magic roared to life, chasing through her with a celebratory sort of intensity. He whispered, "Do you feel that?"

Her voice came out with an unintended tremble. "Yes."

Grey eyes flashed, and his throat bobbed with a swallow, his thumb playing circles on her wrist. "It's the symbiosis. My magic strengthening yours, and your magic reaching out to mine. From my understanding of it…" He looked away, blowing out a shaky exhale. "This is why it mattered so much who I selected for my Lunae Amor. Any one of those women possessed the magic to fulfill the role… but not all of them could have fulfilled the symbiosis to its potential."

A cool sense of loss chased through her when he released her hand, leaning back in his seat. With a quick breath, she asked, "Why? You and I never got along before, so why would your magic interact so well with mine?"

"No one could tell me for certain," he explained, "since no former Lunaes are still alive. But there was something intrinsic about it. From the day you showed up for the call, it was like my magic was pulling towards you. Even when I considered others… inside, I knew it had to be you. Despite our differences—maybe it was because of our differences. Maybe our magic is symbiotic because one fills the void of the other."

"It's an interesting thought," Hermione said, idly reaching for his marked wrist. Expression guarded, he allowed her to drag her fingers across the crescent with varying pressure. His other hand gripped the arm of the throne with white knuckles as he sat, shoulders tensed.

Through clenched teeth, he said, "It's very intense. Like my magic is over-stimulated."

Nodding, Hermione carried on, sweeping her thumb across the mark gently as he had done. She felt the contact as a jolt through her own magic. Nerves chasing through her, she lifted his wrist and caught his gaze. Vulnerability seeped through the hard grey in his eyes, but he watched as she brought his wrist to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the mark.

"Shite," he choked out, tensing in his seat. His chest heaved with his harsh intake of breath, and something stirred in the core of her being. A smile tugged at her lips, and she darted her tongue out to graze his skin. Grimacing, he managed, "You need to stop doing that."

In an instant, she recoiled, releasing his hand. His face was hard as he stared at her, the skin around his eyes tight. "Sorry," she whispered, uncertain whether she had crossed a line when everything between them was so hesitant.

But he shook his head, lips twitching. "You aren't sorry." His eyes were heavily lidded and dark when they met hers. "If I ever want to _torture_ you, I'll do that."

A soft huff of laughter escaped as she caught his meaning, even as she felt her skin grow warm.

Mockingly, he grumbled something about a cold shower. Then, looking uncomfortable, he rose and made for the door without her. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she couldn't help a bright laugh.

* * *

"Lunae."

Draco turned on the spot to see Elias Bergen walking towards him with a stern expression; it was usually a bad sign. He offered a nod. "What is it?"

Rifling through a stack of papers, Bergen proffered a couple sheets of parchment; scanning the contents, Draco's brows lifted in surprise. Bergen explained, "My team looked more closely into the centaur situation in France and has determined a few probable locations where they might be held. There is a good chance the captured members of the herd you met with have been divided."

"This is great work," Draco mused, rubbing the back of his neck. "And quick." It had only been several days since he had set Bergen's team to the task; something niggled at the back of his mind over the rapidity of it. "We'll prepare an extraction team. But… something about this feels too easy."

Peering over his thin frames, Bergen nodded. "I thought so at first, as well. But the team was thorough, and the answers weren't in plain sight. My guess is simply that the captors were not anticipating our involvement, given the wider state of matters. And I can't imagine centaurs are Arcand's most important priority, with half of France rising up against him."

"Good point." Chuckling, Draco looked closer, brandishing the report. "This is excellent."

"Lunae, if I may be so bold," Bergen said, lingering in the corridor. When Draco gestured to proceed, he added, "I know you are uncertain with regards to pushing the situation with Arcand, but I think we need to be forceful. We need to assert Nocturnus presence and make it well known exactly where we stand. No one knows the depth of Arcand's involvement with Avance, and if he isn't loyal to Cosette, we can stand to push hard."

Hesitating, Draco lifted a brow. "And if he _is_ loyal to Cosette? For all we know, Arcand could have roots with Alba as well."

"The impression I've been given on every front is that Arcand has been blackmailed or otherwise persuaded by monetary means," Bergen said, adjusting his glasses. "This is our chance to knock loose the cog at the top of the machine. We cannot afford to go easy."

"Thank you for your thoughts." Musing, Draco rolled up the report. "I will give it some consideration. In the meanwhile—speak with Dagomir, and we will prepare to return to France. Myself and Hermione included."

Something stirred in his memory and took up residence in his chest: the way Fletcher, the temporary leader of the herd had held Draco's stare with fear in his eyes. How he had recognised so much of himself and his own doubts. He couldn't turn his back on the herd now—and he knew Granger would never let him.

"Lunae—"

Softly, he said, "That is my decision. I won't leave the centaurs to fend for themselves any longer."

Flatly, Bergen pronounced, "Every time you make your presence in France known, you put your life at risk, Lunae. Every time you leave the wards of this _manor_—"

"Then we ought to prepare the guard," he bit out. "I will not hide out and attempt to lead this order from the safety of my home. How can I expect anyone to do things when I am unwilling to do them myself?"

Fleetingly, he thought of the half-drunken conversation he'd had several nights prior with Granger. How her life was at stake because of her involvement with him—how she had still vehemently denied that she regretted any of it. How could he expect her to put herself at risk if he wouldn't do the same, especially when it came to magical creatures. Because she would go with or without him.

"Very well," Bergen said, dipping his head in a nod. "I will meet with Dagomir today."

"Good," Draco said, his tone softening. "Let me know what is determined." Sliding the scroll into his pocket, he strode down the corridor.

* * *

After a long evening of research in the manor library, Hermione made her way back through their residential wing to her personal quarters.

Soft music wafted from one of the rooms further down, where she had yet to explore, and she halted in her steps. The rich tinkling of a piano, playing a despairing, melancholy piece. Hesitating, Hermione ventured past her rooms towards the sound. She felt the heavy tone settle into her soul and stopped on the threshold.

A handsome grand piano stood in the centre of the room, silver moonlight filtering through high windows to illuminate the ivory keys.

And the pale blond hair of its musician, a crooked silver crown perched on top.

He painted a startling picture, shoulders hunched over the piano with the weight of thousands. Hermione was suddenly aware of her breathing, and she lingered, about to turn and walk away. But the notes called to something within her as his fingers trailed, effortless, evoking a depth of emotion within her.

The music was endlessly beautiful and _immeasurably_ sad.

Before she could stop herself, she took a few steps into the expansive room, empty save for the magnificent instrument. Malfoy carried on, either unaware or ignoring her presence, and she stood behind him, unwilling to interrupt.

The melody haunted her, bringing tears to her eyes, and she felt the emotion he didn't dare speak as it poured through the music he played.

At last his fingers stopped and hovered over the keys, the final note jarring, and Hermione felt her soul long for him to continue.

He asked, his voice quiet in the silence of the room, "Do you play?"

"A little when I was young. But not like this," she whispered, shaking her head despite that he couldn't see her. Taking another step forward, she added, "It's beautiful."

Without speaking, he shifted on the bench, his long fingers idly trailing across the keys. Following the unspoken cue, she took a seat beside him, careful to keep to the edge so she wouldn't hinder his ability to play.

"When I was young," he said, quietly over the soft, meandering melody, "Mother used to sit and drink her tea while I played."

Hermione couldn't quite tell in the dim lighting of only the moon above, but she thought his eyes looked bloodshot. But the skin beneath his eyes, while shadowed by a lack of sleep, was dry of tracks.

A half-hearted smirk dragged across his lips. "Always said it was the highlight of her day."

Nodding, Hermione offered, "I'm sure it was. You play beautifully."

His shoulder brushed against hers, but she wasn't certain it was intentional as he reached for a higher octave, splaying his fingers across the keys. He carried on, a devastating minor arrangement, and said crisply, "I play what I cannot express."

The words sunk deep into her, and her eyelids fluttered shut when the music picked up, his fingers plucking with an instinctive and practiced precision she could never imagine. Moisture prickled at the backs of her eyes at the vulnerability he was sharing with her through his music, and she felt the despair, the anguish pouring forth.

When he cut off with a shaky exhale, staring down at the keys, she breathed, "You're doing better than you think you are."

"How," he choked, hoarse, "am I meant to figure any of this out."

A tear broke from her eye, and swiping at it, she said,"Together. We'll figure it out together."

Malfoy ground out through a clenched jaw, "I could live through one hundred lifetimes and not deserve to have you at my side."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "because this is the only one you've got—and I'm right here."

His eyes shone when they finally met hers, and she was startled by all that she found there. Blinking back tears, she reached her hands up to straighten the crown atop his head. Trailing her hands down the sides of his face, she looked him in the eye. "You are the Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order. And don't you dare," she hissed, voice dropping to a broken whisper, "let them knock off your crown."

Beneath the anguish, the vulnerability in his stare, pushed forth the steely determination she had come to know. Deep within her chest, her heart soared.

* * *

**Author's** **Note: **Thank you all, as always, for your lovely reviews and comments! I'm so glad you're still sticking with me and this story. I sort of can't believe we're 15 chapters in, but there's still so far to go. I hope you're enjoying it—and more importantly, I hope you're all still keeping safe and healthy. All my best vibes for you guys.

Alpha glomps to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and beta jazz hands for ravenslight.


	16. Chapter 16

Fletcher and his herd stood in wait, just inside the fringes of the forest, when they arrived. Draco strode forth, Granger at his side, while the extensive team of Nocturnus guards stood farther back in an effort to avoid alarming the centaurs.

Clapping Draco on the shoulder, Fletcher ducked his chin into a bow. "Thank you for returning, my friend." His sister Willow nodded alongside, her face cold.

"The Nocturnus advisers have looked further into potential locations," Granger explained, "and we can assume that either or both may be the sites where your friends and family are being held."

Blue eyes shining, Fletcher said, "It is a good day when humans care for the interests of centaurs."

Swallowing, Draco murmured, "Come on. It's a long way from here on foot. We've brought a large force, and in the interests of catching the captors off guard, we will storm both locations at once."

Fletcher nodded, calling forth his herd. They numbered approximately two dozen, and when Draco recalled that they had left England with nearly twice that, his determination redoubled. He had given strict directions to Dagomir, who would lead his half of the guard towards one of the fortresses while Draco would storm the other with Granger.

The herd was well equipped with bows and knives, but in magical combat, they could find themselves lacking. In an instant, he reminded himself of the centaurs' practiced skills in long-range archery.

He could only hope the captors in charge of holding the imprisoned centaurs were not fighters.

Willow took one half of the herd with Dagomir while Fletcher approached Draco's other side, shoulders back and head held high. Since the centaurs were unable to Apparate and Draco had no interest in insulting them by leaving them out of the rescue efforts, they would approach the fortress on foot. Granger cast an impressive series of stealth wards to shield their approach from anyone who might have been watching.

While Draco was uncertain whether Granger's love for magical creatures was rubbing off on him, he couldn't stand the thought that the shifts in Arcand's anti-creature policy meant it was alright for humans to capture sentient beings and harvest them of their components. He dreaded the thought that the kidnapped centaurs might not be okay and had to hope that the humans had needed to keep them alive.

Fletcher and Granger made casual conversation as they walked, and Draco listened in, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Would the anti-creature advocates retaliate? Would Arcand do something even worse? While Elias Bergen had urged him to act decisively with regards to Arcand and Draco didn't regret working with the centaurs to rescue the rest of their herd, he still felt as if he were taunting the beast.

And while he had an impressive team of trained guards at his back, they still didn't know anything of the depth of Avance's power. Were they working with the long-hidden Italian society, Alba? Was he continuing to underestimate the forces at play?

Unease and a lack of knowledge caused a churning in the pit of Draco's stomach, and an hour after they'd left the forest, Granger halted at his side.

The fortress was before them, and while a few guards lingered around the exterior, a quick revealing spell indicated only a handful of workers within. Researchers, most likely. Draco's lip curled in revulsion, and without hesitation, he set his guards forth to stun those parading the perimeter, unsuspecting of the impending onslaught.

Fletcher followed closely behind the guards, nocking an arrow in his bow with swift precision.

Draco called from behind him, "Unless you have no option—leave the people inside alive. They are most likely acting upon orders."

With a nod, Fletcher called forward the rest of his pack, and they ventured forth alongside the guards. Draco grimaced, hesitating at Granger's side.

Her voice was soft. "What are you thinking?"

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shook his head slowly. A series of loud crashes came from within, but all the French guards were stunned, and within moments shouts filtered to the outside. He mused, "I'm trying to sort through all of this. Why the creatures? What other motivations does Arcand have? If Cosette wants to kill me, why has she bothered with anything else?"

Her gaze fixed on the fortress ahead, Granger shrugged. "They can't have made it look like an outright assassination attempt. Remember, you wouldn't have Ascended if you knew what Cosette was up to."

Lifting one hand, he said, "Captured centaurs, displaced vampires, a citizen's uprising." Then he lifted the other and added, "An ancient Italian society out for blood."

"You're right," she said, reaching for one of his hands. "It doesn't make any sense. But what _we_ are doing right now makes sense to us." Her eyes sparkled as she looked up to see centaurs retreating from the fortress. "We don't know about Cosette's motivations, but for whatever reason—likely to do with the lunar affiliation not yet at its full potential—she's hesitating. We have to keep on our path and be ready to deviate when necessary."

As he watched, Draco saw Fletcher approach a young female centaur with crimson hair down to the middle of her back, before drawing her into a tight embrace. His chest tightened when he noticed, some distance behind, an older male centaur—looking roughed up and worse for wear, his hair shorn in patches and limping on one of his legs—walk free from the fortress.

Granger breathed, "Firenze."

"Can you send a Patronus to Dagomir?" Draco had never learned how to produce his own and didn't know whether he even could, due to the scarred Mark on his arm.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she nodded before sending a message with her fluttery pale otter.

Fierce determination sat in Fletcher's stare when he approached swiftly and drew Draco into an embrace, then Granger. Moisture shone at his eyes and he breathed, "Thank you, my friends, for your help."

Firenze looked bedraggled and confused, but he clapped Draco on the back as well, and Draco thought he heard Granger sniffle. Nodding, Draco said, "Of course. Shall we send along some healers to tend to your wounded?"

Granger clicked her tongue, and for an instant, Draco considered that the request might have been offensive, but Fletcher chuckled. "We may not wield wands, Lunae, but we have healers of our own." Then he bowed his head, deeply, and the others followed suit. "Consider us in your debt, Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order."

* * *

Even though his life was crumbling all around him, Draco found himself in good spirits when they returned to England once more. While it may not have been Arcand himself spearheading the capture of centaurs, it was his policy that had allowed for such a thing to happen in the first place.

Not only had they assisted Fletcher in recovering his herd—because the other extraction had been likewise successful—Nocturnus had made a loud and decisive statement that they weren't going to sit idly by and watch marginalised populations be mistreated. Just because Arcand was on an anti-creature rampage it didn't mean there would be no one to check his power, even if there was too much bureaucratic red tape for the British Ministry to act.

It was a small step, to be certain, but after a continuous string of bad news, it felt good to have something go right for once.

With a spring in his step, Draco made his way towards the owlery to pick up any mail he had missed while abroad.

But when he rounded the corner into the Nocturnus Wing, he came to a dead stop. Granger stood with Hugo, and their matching expressions of trepidation chased the elation from him with cold dread to his heart. Hugo's eyes snapped to his approach, and moments later, Draco realised the man held a letter.

Clenching her jaw, Granger turned to face him. "We've had mail."

"Looks like bad news," Draco drawled, appraising the pair of them as he reached for the scroll. "Has someone died?"

Without waiting for an answer, he unrolled the parchment, eyes skating rapidly across the page. An uncomfortable lump formed in his throat; he read the missive again.

"This is… a summons?"

Confused, Draco looked to Granger. She nodded, worrying her lip. "Our actions in France have triggered an inquiry with the Wizengamot, or so it appears. We've been called to speak for our actions in a foreign country. And if we take any further actions in France… the Ministry will take proactive counter-measures."

"Bollocks," Draco snapped, turning to Hugo, who was exceedingly pale. "Nocturnus has always operated outside the reach of organised governments. It's the reason we're able to address these issues when the Ministry is unwilling or unable."

"You're right," Hugo said with a grimace. "Legally, your Wizengamot has no power to control the actions of the Nocturnus Order. There is no modern precedent for anything we're trying to achieve." From his lingering hesitation, Draco sensed more to the statement. Hugo lifted an unimpressed brow. "But what they _can_ do is drown us in red tape and make their best efforts at stalling our progress."

"But _why_?" Draco ground through his teeth, waving the letter with an increasing sense of ire. "Why do any of this at all? We are _actively_ working to prevent war within France with a wider effort at prevention across Europe. If anything, the Ministry should be pleased that we're stepping up to take care of what they _are not_."

"What this letter implies," Granger said, exchanging a glance with Hugo, "is Cosette got to Shacklebolt."

Sneering, Hugo added, "Your Ministry is running scared because Avance has frightened them."

"Which means Avance is trying to shut us down." Frowning, Draco crumpled the letter into a ball in his fist. "If they're trying to stall us out by any means necessary. It _certainly_ doesn't help matters any by having the Ministry dragging us back. And this summons… what a bloody waste of time. They can't do anything."

A hint of a smile crossed Hugo's features, and he stared between them. "And yet… it means we're doing something right."

* * *

A full moon shone high in the sky, and without having to think twice, Hermione ventured through Malfoy's personal quarters and up the spiral staircase to his rooftop hideout. This time, she felt the shimmering of his protective wards and smiled when she found him laid out flat on the roof, his eyes pressed shut.

A late spring warmth hung on the air, despite the late hour, and she sat on the mild slope beside him, folding her legs beneath her as she propped her hands back to gaze up at the moon. Even though she hadn't been able to call forth the lunar affiliation in the same way Malfoy could, she felt a connection with the moon she'd never experienced before. Something rejuvenating—empowering. It sent a tingle down her spine and brought to life the magic of the bonds from its dormancy in her veins.

Malfoy cracked one eye open at her presence, and his chest sunk with a long exhale. Drowsily, he murmured, "Hi."

Keeping her gaze fixed on the moon, she responded with a quiet, "Hello." After another silent moment she added, "I hope you don't mind me joining you here."

"I don't mind." His eyes fell shut again, as if he were asleep. But he trailed his fingers along her knee closest to him and smiled. "It feels good—being out here."

"With the full moon," Hermione surmised. At his hummed agreement, she mused, "It's been one lunar cycle since we were bonded. And it's felt like…"

"A long time," he stated, eyes opening again. "It's felt like so much longer."

"A lot has happened."

Sitting up alongside her, he lifted a hand. "Look at this." As she watched, the white light of the moon accumulated above his extended palm, quickly building to beyond the tips of his fingers. A breath hitched in his throat, and he added, "It's easier during the full moon."

"That makes sense." Peering closer at the magic, she could see the individual shimmers like iridescent stars; she swiped a hesitant finger through the accumulation of magic. Malfoy flinched, recoiling his hand, but the affiliation was cool to the touch. A few of the sparkles lingered on the tip of her finger, and she brought the hand closer to her own face.

Though his expression was pensive, he offered the affiliation towards her. Trailing her fingers along the edge of it, Hermione smiled when her own hand shined with the white magic where she touched it. She rotated her hand and pressed it to the top of the sphere of magic, and a swath of it drew away.

She could feel the shimmers hover above her skin, cool and enticing, and she held it between both hands.

Malfoy flashed her a grin, and with a flourish of his hand, some of the magic released, fluttering into the night sky. "I wonder," he mused, breaking the easy silence of their experimentation, "how much the intent plays a role. Because it looks so innocuous."

Biting down on his bottom lip in thought, he aimed his hand towards a distant patch of the roof and projected the magic; the affiliation collided with the roof in a small explosion, and Hermione flinched. He rose to his feet and walked along the roof to check out the damage. Hesitant, she followed and gaped upon realizing he had blown a small hole into the room below. His grin was contagious, however, and she found herself laughing while he smoothed the damage over with sparkling fingers.

Staring at the patch, which once again looked fully intact, Hermione blew out a breath as they resumed their seats. "Intent indeed."

He pressed his hands together until the affiliation clung to both hands, and with a slow, crooked grin, he planted his hands to either side of her face. Her bright laugh chased into the air between them, and in the dark of the night, she could vaguely see the shimmer on her cheeks before it slowly faded away.

With a grin, Hermione took hold of his hands, collecting a dusting of magic along her fingers before dragging it through the stubble on his jaw. Snickering, he buried his hands into her curls, and they sparkled with iridescent light.

"Who says we can't have fun sometimes," he breathed, staring at her; the grey in his eyes illuminated from within with the silver of the moon.

Breathless and heart racing, Hermione ducked in, the lunar magic mingling with the magic of their bonds—and something else entirely—when she pressed her lips to his. For as natural as his touch had come to be, the feel of his kiss set alight something deeper within her as he kissed her back, hands cradling the sides of her head. She could feel the tug of a smile on his lips against hers and drew him closer, tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue.

Malfoy deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing against hers, and a heated tightness settled in her core when he dragged her closer, one hand sweeping down her side. Shifting her so she laid back on the roof, he planted a trail of kisses along the curve of her jaw, and when he caught her earlobe between his teeth she arched towards him, a whimper escaping her throat.

Pulling him closer still, she kissed him again, a heated fervour growing in the contact as she wound her foot around his calf; propped above her, his lips ghosted the sensitive skin of her throat, sucking at her neck and collarbone.

Her magic raced through her and danced with his, spurring her onwards as she fumbled for the collar of his shirt, and he groaned against her throat as he pressed against her, igniting a desirous longing in her core. Sweeping her hair aside, he continued his meticulous efforts down her neck, tugging the fabric of her jumper aside so he could reach the smooth skin of her shoulder.

Dragging her hands down his back, his arms, and drawing him still closer, Hermione groaned when his other hand slipped beneath her jumper, his fingertips trailing up her ribcage and beneath the fabric of her bra to palm one of her breasts.

Breaths mingling, he kissed her again, his thumb sweeping the sensitive peak of her nipple, and she nipped his bottom lip, clutching a hand to his arse as he pressed himself against her. With another lingering kiss, he drew back, eyes dark when they met hers. Even as he withdrew his hand from beneath her jumper, his lips curled with a smirk. Against her cheek, he muttered, "We're on the bloody roof."

"Yes," Hermione managed, her heart racing and chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath; her head spun from awareness of him.

Nuzzling her jaw, Malfoy went on. "It isn't ideal." Dragging his tongue along her neck, he added, "I'm surprised you haven't lectured me on the hazards of ravishing you on the roof."

"Now that you mention it," she whispered, pulling his mouth to hers again, "it's awfully unsafe."

Deepening the kiss again, slower and more meticulous, as if he were savouring her, he murmured against her mouth, "I cannot put your life at risk. The contract and all."

Grinding into him as he slipped a hand beneath her arse, she whispered, "We'll have to wait, then." Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him for a long moment, the magic of the bonds reaching for him. Sweeping his fringe back from his eyes, Hermione smiled up at him.

A returning smile played about his lips when he drew her into one last kiss, a barely there press of the lips as he moved her into his arms. While her magic settled within her veins, Hermione sunk into his warmth; entwining her legs with his, and with a semblance of peace she hadn't felt in a long while, she allowed her eyes to fall shut.

* * *

**Author's** **Note: **Hello, and thank you all for reading! I hope you're all keeping healthy and safe. Your lovely comments are certainly keeping me going these days, so thank you!

Alpha and beta squad hugs to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	17. Chapter 17

Malfoy wore a scrutinising expression on his face as he eyed her from across the room that set Hermione on edge. When he sidled up alongside her with a leading stare, she sighed, folding her arms. "Yes?"

The last time she had seen him was the night they had spent on the roof of the Manor; she must have drifted to sleep in his arms because she woke up the next morning tucked safely in her own bed.

Offering her a smile, he planted a quick kiss to her lips. "You said Potter wanted to have dinner with us, if I recall."

"Harry and Daphne," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I thought you had no interest."

"I don't," he said quickly, a smirk on his face, "_but_—Potter works for the Auror's Office, doesn't he?"

Sucking her teeth, she lifted an unimpressed brow. "He does—why do I have the feeling you're up to something?" When he clicked his tongue, acting affronted, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Never mind—what are you up to?"

Wrapping an arm around her tense shoulders, Malfoy said, "I'm always up to something." Grey eyes flashing, he added, "But this is legitimate. I want to find out everything he knows about this whole Avance situation from a Ministry standpoint."

Considering the thought for a moment, Hermione conceded, "It's a fair point. If Minister Shacklebolt is feeling the pressure from Avance, it would be useful to know the extent of Avance's involvement here in Britain. When I still worked at the Ministry, I had a better perspective on the situation from the outside."

"Ironic," he drawled.

"But you do realize—" Tapping him on the arm, she fixed him with a hard stare. "You have to _actually_ be social."

"I'll be social," he said with narrowed eyes. "I went to school with Daphne, remember? Doesn't make any sense to me why she wanted to marry Potter, but that's her business."

She frowned and jabbed at him in the ribs with her elbow. "I know you can be diplomatic—so just do that."

"I'll do that," he agreed. "And the more Potter can tell us about the Ministry, the better we can prepare ourselves moving forward."

It _was_ an incredibly valid point, but his mood was already irritating enough that she hardly cared to boost his ego, so she only nodded. "I'll owl Harry today to make the arrangements. If we could keep the intrusive guard presence to a minimum, that would be nice."

He only said, "You know the guards. They do love to intrude."

Eyeing him for a long moment, she finally sighed. "You're in a strange mood."

"I'm not allowed to be happy?" he teased, facing her and running his hands down her arms. His voice dropped to a low tone that sent shivers along her spine. "I've been thinking of something else. While the situation in France is volatile, we ought to take another trip to look into things in Italy—both of us this time."

A breath hitched in Hermione's throat at the look in his gaze. "That would be nice."

"Do some digging into the past," he said, trailing the tips of his fingers to her hips, "and have some time for just us. And if all goes well—Avance won't even know we're there."

"All will need to go well." His proximity twisted her stomach into knots, and she found herself distracted by the softness of his lips. "Because especially if Avance is coming after us at home—we need to keep any advantage over them we can." Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his. "And for Merlin's sake, be careful about using the affiliation in front of _anyone_."

"Good point," he murmured against her mouth, resting his forehead against hers. Stepping back, he added, "On that note—I need to talk to Glenneth about something. Let me know what Potter says and I'll play nice."

Planting a kiss to her temple, he was gone before she could make any sense of him.

* * *

"You can't _possibly_ be serious." Hermione froze on the threshold, mouth hanging open in disbelief. Lifting a single pale brow, Malfoy carried on with the task of fixing his crown securely atop his head. "Don't tell me _that's_ what you're wearing."

"I can wear whatever I feel like," he mused, adjusting a stray piece of hair as he gazed at his own reflection. "Freedom of expression and all that."

Folding her arms, Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes outright—she ought to have known it would be like pulling teeth to get Malfoy to attend dinner at Grimmauld Place. "We are going for a casual meal," she said, exasperated.

Turning to face her, Malfoy ducked his chin. "You told me to be diplomatic. _You_ may be attending a casual dinner, whereas _I_ am brokering an exchange of information."

"You're serious about this."

Clad head to toe in his full Nocturnus regalia, Malfoy looked ready for a gathering of kings rather than Kreacher's signature meatloaf. Despite herself, staring at the look on his face, Hermione found herself snickering.

Squaring his shoulders, he said, "I was raised always to dress a step above—"

"A step!" Hermione exclaimed, a laugh forcing its way free. "Try the whole stairwell. Admit it—this is a play to flaunt your power over Harry. An immature and transparent one, might I add."

Though he had the power of the world at his feet, Malfoy could still be astoundingly childish. But picturing him seated at the grimy table in Grimmauld Place in his elegant robes and crown only exacerbated her mirth, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing outright, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

He adjusted the knot of his tie, lips twitching. "Fine—it's a play to flaunt my power over Potter. And I never claimed to be mature—_or_ opaque."

Shaking her head, Hermione gave his forearm a squeeze. "Merlin knows how it happened, but you make me laugh, Draco Malfoy. We leave in ten minutes—_change_!"

When she turned to walk out from the room, judging by the look on his face, she thought he quite knew exactly what he was doing.

Fifteen minutes later, Malfoy strode into her quarters, dressed in a navy oxford and dark trousers, straightening the knot of his tie. Peering down at her, he lifted an unimpressed brow. "Is this acceptable, oh great Lunae Amor, queen of fashion choices?"

Eyes narrowing, Hermione stared at him for a long moment—long enough for his expression to tighten—but he didn't avert his gaze. Sighing, she fixed his tie, smoothing a wrinkle from his shirt. "Are you going to be in this mood all night?"

"Would you prefer I isolate myself and brood?"

She forced a smile. "No."

Pressing a kiss to her lips, he breathed, "Then yes."

Twining her hands around the back of his neck, she said, "I appreciate you doing this."

"Please," he scoffed. "You gave up your life for this. This is the least I could do—although I wish you would have let me wear the crown."

Biting down on her lower lip, Hermione said, "I ordered you something from one of your mother's catalogues. Consider it a late wedding gift."

Malfoy's expression faltered when she stepped out of his hold, a furrow of consternation in his brow. "I don't have anything for you."

"I don't need anything," she huffed, waving a hand. Moments later she returned, and he watched as she swapped his tie clip for one in the shape of a crown, three midnight blue jewels embedded in the silver. Within a small box was a matching set of cufflinks, and he swallowed as she secured them in place with a quiet, "There. Now you'll have your crown with you."

The look on his face released a swarm of butterflies into her stomach and sent her heart into freefall. "Thank you." With an impossibly soft kiss, he said, "Now come on—we're already late."

* * *

When she stepped through the Floo at Grimmauld Place, Hermione relaxed in the familiar atmosphere. But moments later when Malfoy followed her through with a hand to her back, recognition dawned on how much everything had changed.

Not only was she married, but she had come to operate on an entirely different plane of existence at Malfoy's side. She no longer indulged in frequent lunch and dinner plans at the Leaky or gossip over drinks. Her life now felt infinitely more complicated in comparison.

She didn't regret the mantle she had taken up, but it was a stark difference from the life she had previously led.

And when Harry strode into the sitting room with a sparkle in his green eyes and pulled her into an embrace, she felt strange when they broke apart. Daphne spoke quietly with Malfoy for a moment before smiling. "Welcome, both of you."

Scratching the back of his neck, Harry said, "Malfoy—and Malfoy."

Hermione fixed him with a look. Lingering by her side once more, Malfoy slipped his hands into his trouser pockets—a tell of his nerves—and said with a nod, "Potter. Thanks for the invite."

In a moment of tense hesitation, the two men stared at one another. Then, with reticence, Harry extended a hand. Considering him for a moment with shrewd eyes, Malfoy offered his hand as well. A breath chased from Hermione's lungs when they shook hands and stepped apart.

The four of them settled into the sitting room; Malfoy took the seat beside her on the sofa, and if she didn't know him any better she might have thought he wore unaffected confidence. But in the slight jiggle of his knee she recognised his hesitation and pressed her knee against his own.

"So," Daphne prompted into the silence, "how have you both been settling in since the wedding?"

Pressing his lips into a thin approximation of a smile, Malfoy said, "Well, thanks."

Hermione nodded and added, "It's been interesting, to say the least. But we haven't killed one another yet—and dare I say it, sometimes we actually get along."

A stifled chuckle crossed the room. Daphne announced, "Well, that's good news, considering."

"Considering Granger's stuck with me for life," Malfoy quipped with a bit of a bite.

Harry wore a look as if he'd plastered a close-lipped smile to his mouth and was determined to keep it there no matter what happened. Daphne rose and collected a bottle of Firewhisky, pouring four glasses.

Taking a grateful sip from her glass, Hermione added, "Or the inverse, more likely."

"So Malfoy," Harry ventured, "what's your quidditch team?"

Latching on to the safe haven of conversation, Malfoy nodded. "The Falcons. You?"

"Puddlemere." After a moment, Harry added, "Quite the match between them the other week."

"I'm afraid I missed it," Malfoy said, wincing. "We were… out of the country for a few days."

"Oh!" Daphne exclaimed with a smile. "Where did you go? Was it a honeymoon?"

Glancing sidelong at Malfoy, Hermione wished they had discussed more about what was off-limits as far as conversational topics. France was more likely to be public knowledge, and they needed to keep their interest in Italy private.

But he shook his head. "France—on business, I'm afraid. Not so much time for play right now."

A smirk lingered on his lips, and at the unpleasant look on Harry's face, Hermione swallowed, forcing a smile of her own. Hoping they could find a natural segue into the topic of the Ministry and Avance's influence, she said, "We've been working with some of the magical beings who have been marginalised by Minister Arcand's radical new policy shifts."

Malfoy nodded, placing a hand to her back between her shoulders. Hermione wasn't certain if the gesture was meant to be one of affection or to steady his nerves, but his expression was unreadable. "We have seen some small successes—and some, not so much."

"Right," Harry said, leaning forward in his seat. "I heard something about that—centaurs, right?"

Hermione sighed a breath of relief. "Right."

"From what I've heard," Harry said delicately, "you're stirring the waters with the Wizengamot."

Malfoy snickered, glancing away. "Unfortunately, the Wizengamot has no jurisdiction over the actions of the Nocturnus Order—try though as they may."

When Harry's expression tightened and he opened his mouth to speak, Hermione cut in, "Harry, you don't know about anything between Ministers Arcand and Shacklebolt, do you? Whether they've been in contact at all?"

Considering the question, his face hard, Harry said, "Kingsley had a meeting with Minister Arcand a few days ago. He looked… not entirely well afterwards."

"Arcand was in England?" Malfoy lifted a brow, glancing at Hermione.

Twisting his mouth to the side, Harry nodded. "That was when I heard about the Wizengamot." He turned to face Hermione, entwining his fingers. "Jurisdiction or not… they can make things unpleasant for you—I'd be cautious if I were you."

Malfoy's hand on her back tensed, and Hermione leaned back in her seat, carefully weighing her words. "Prior to this meeting between Shacklebolt and Arcand, the Wizengamot were mostly supportive of our actions in France."

"You're right," Harry said quietly, sharing a glance with Daphne. "They were, for the most part. And I've probably said too much already."

There was a hint of caution in his tone that Hermione was sure Malfoy caught as well. Pressing her lips together, she nodded. "Of course."

With the same banal smile retaking his face, Harry said, "A group of us are going to the Leaky next week for Dean's birthday. You two ought to come by. They'll be projecting the game."

Malfoy's grey eyes flickered to meet hers. Under his breath, he said, "Italy." Then clearing his throat, he spoke louder, "Thank you for the offer—Hermione and I will be away for a few days this coming week, and we aren't yet sure when we'll return."

With a shrug, Harry met Hermione's stare across the room. "Absolutely. Well, if you can."

"Thanks, Harry." Doing her best to ignore the roiling churn in the pit of her stomach, Hermione sunk deeper into Malfoy's touch, focusing on the bond coursing through her at the contact. When had she lost the ability to connect with her best friend? "We'll do our best."

Clapping her hands together, Daphne announced, "Dinner should be nearly ready."

Under his breath, a smirk pulling at his lips, Malfoy muttered, "Thank Merlin."

* * *

After a frustratingly stifled evening, Draco was pleased to return to the Manor. It had been challenging to find many things he could discuss with Potter when they led such different lives, and the only common ground—Quidditch teams—was something in which Draco hadn't had any time to indulge since he had Ascended.

Even Daphne, with whom he shared a house at Hogwarts, lived a life of trivialities and gossip. Deep down, Draco wished his life had not become the complicated mess it was now—but for all the downsides that comprised life as the Lunae Ortus, it was his responsibility.

They had enough problems to deal with, and the only good part of it all was that Granger was at his side.

But upon returning from Potter's house, she had retreated into her own quarters with a half-hearted smile. Her energy had dulled progressively as the evening went on, and he could feel it in the weak prod of her magic against his own. Draco wondered whether she regretted everything yet—because with the way things were going in both France and Italy, it could only be a matter of time before she began to wish she hadn't become involved.

After changing into a plain t-shirt and sleep trousers, Draco ventured into her sitting room, but she wasn't there, and the door to her bedroom was closed.

Hesitating, he debated whether he ought to retreat—but she had reached out to him on numerous occasions, and steeling his nerves, he tapped on her door. At a muffled "come in," he opened the door.

Granger laid on top of the covers in a tank top and shorts, half of her face buried in her pillow and a book propped open before her. It was the first time in weeks he had seen her read anything other than the ancient Nocturnus journals. Dropping down into the bed beside her, he leaned back against the headboard.

Glancing sidelong at her, Draco released a breath and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, idle and flippant, and he lifted a brow. Sighing, she marked her page in the book and set it aside. "No." Her hand found his and tugged him down to lay beside her; despair hung heavy on her face. "I feel like I can't talk to Harry anymore. Like I can't… I don't know, I can't relate."

"I know," he said, holding her stare. "I felt the same with Blaise and Theo to an extent. Like there's so much going on here—and we can't talk about most of it. The idea of going to the Leaky for casual drinks feels like a foreign luxury now."

"Right," she whispered, the word a quiet exhale. "I know what we're doing is important. But I don't know that I was ready to give up everything."

"But yet," Draco said, the words lingering between them, "you did. Your job—_both_ jobs—and your flat."

"I did," she repeated.

"And…" he went on, trailing his fingers along the curve of her hip, "you walked into this complete unknown. For no reason other than you felt compelled to step up and take responsibility for something that had nothing to do with you."

Moisture shone in her glassy eyes, but she stared at him, unblinking, in silence.

Sweeping the pad of his thumb beneath her eye where a tear broke free, he sighed. "Unfortunately, what we're doing isn't easy, and these waters aren't charted. Most people don't and won't understand. Hell, I question every day whether I shouldn't have just let things run their course—especially after learning the truth about Avance. I'm not exactly the altruistic type."

"But you couldn't," Granger whispered.

"I couldn't," he echoed. "Not after everything that happened last time I stood by and failed to take a stand." Staring at her for a long moment, he felt his heart churn and stutter. "Maybe I'm a consolation, and I can accept that. But you are beautiful, you're courageous and brilliant, and maybe none of this makes sense now. Maybe it will never make sense… but in your heart, Hermione, you know you're going to make a difference."

Silent tears broke from her eyes, sadness etched on her face as she stared back at him. "You aren't a consolation. You're the only other person in this world who I feel like I can talk to now."

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, lips lingering against her soft skin. When he drew away her eyelids fluttered, but she moved into his arms. Drawing her towards his chest, he shifted to drag the covers over top of them; magic pulsed between them and raced through his veins.

Eyes closed and dried tracks on her cheeks, Granger asked, "Stay here tonight?"

He nodded, tightening his hold. "Absolutely."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks everyone, for your continued support on this story. It's the most ambitious thing I've ever undertaken, and your kind words honestly mean more than I can say. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Next time, Italy!

Thanks to my awesome alphas LadyKenz347 and Kyonomiko, and my rockstar beta ravenslight!


	18. Chapter 18

Eyes bleary and exhausted, Hermione forced herself to push onwards in an essay she had found in one of the old journals that contained specific details about the lunar affiliation. The more they learned about the obscure magic drawn forth by the moon, the better Malfoy could learn to handle it. On numerous occasions, he had mentioned he didn't know exactly how it operated.

And in all of her research, this was the most comprehensive page she had found. Drawing a scroll of parchment towards her, Hermione hastily scrawled a few key notes, given the journal was handwritten and its paper yellowed from the centuries. She jumped, startled, when Malfoy poked his head through the door and asked, "Are you nearly set?"

"Yeah," she breathed, eyes dropping back to the section she had been reading.

Hugo had arranged for their Portkey to Italy, and it was set to depart in the next fifteen minutes. Hermione had been packed for hours and had decided to pass the time with some further research. It felt wholly different to be visiting Italy—where everything was secretive and clandestine—in comparison to France, where their efforts had revolved around a political agenda.

Apparently during their first visit to Italy, Malfoy and Bergen had warded and enchanted one of the ancient Nocturnus castles so they could Portkey directly within the wards—and the high mage had enchanted the device so it would be untraceable after the fact.

While Malfoy had initially suggested they visit Italy together, it hardly made sense when there was so much to be done, and much of the council and guard would be travelling as well on separate Portkeys. But according to Malfoy, the castle was plenty large enough that they wouldn't see anyone else unless they needed to.

Nerves chased through her at the thought.

When she glanced back up, having been caught up in her reading, Malfoy was gone. She suspected he had learned better than to bother her while she was in the middle of something.

Her hand stalled, mid-sentence as she read. With a thick swallow, she re-read the sentence three times; the writing was thin and faded, and a lump accumulated in her stomach.

_The lunar affiliation, that rare magic which possesses many facets, shall only increase in strength with the consummation of the Lunae bonds._

"Granger." Eyes wide, she stared at Malfoy again, heart racing. "Put the book down—we've got to go."

Carefully marking her page and stowing the journal and her notes in her travel bag, Hermione forced a smile. "Of course—Italy awaits."

His eyes tightened, calculating, when she jumped to her feet, shrinking and pocketing her bags. Frowning, he stared at her bag. "What did you just read?" It was frightening, sometimes, how well he had come to read her in such a short amount of time.

"Tell you later," she huffed in a breath. "Portkey?"

* * *

Draco watched while Granger fidgeted with her bags once they'd arrived on the grounds of the castle; the guard contingent had already landed an hour prior and done a full security sweep of the castle for extraneous magic or any traces of human presence since he and Bergen had last been.

She had been acting skittish ever since he had gone to her room before leaving, and he couldn't quite determine why. For weeks, she had been poring over the Nocturnus journals, but the way his predecessors had droned on about the most trivial of details left him ready for a nap every time Draco tried.

Approaching her, he met her eyes. "So? What do you think?"

"It's incredible." Awe shone in her stare, and a brilliant smile spread across her face. "I can't believe the old Lunaes used to live here."

"Podski will be along shortly," Draco mused, tugging her hand into his, "and he'll sort through your things, given we don't know how long we'll be staying here. I'll take you for a tour—but I don't know even half of it. Bergen and I didn't have a lot of time when we were here before."

Breathless, she nodded, gazing up from inside the tall, foreboding walls of the castle. The brilliant architecture was that of legend, crumbling stone crawling with vines and foliage, tall spiraling turrets. Beyond the walls were the endless, sprawling fields of Tuscany in every direction as far as they could see.

Interlacing their fingers, Granger ventured forward, staring up at the towering fortress.

Gazing at the tallest tower, Draco pointed and said, "That's the Lunae tower. Where the Lunae quarters are… but there's only one problem."

"Let me guess," she said with a curious smile, "shared quarters?"

"Shared quarters." Gauging her reaction, he added, "Of course, there are plenty of rooms if you prefer otherwise."

Her voice was quiet. "I'm sure we can make do for a few days."

Dragging her closer with a grin, he led her into the castle and through the main living areas towards the tower he had pointed out. Despite having seen many lavish residences in his life, exploring the castle with Granger—who was prone to awe and vibrant excitement—set a spark within his own heart alight. By the time they reached the Lunae tower, her smile was wide with exhilaration.

Through the grand sleeping quarters, exposed to the elements, was an expansive balcony which looked directly upon the moon at its culmination. A breath caught in his throat as they gazed out at the night sky dotted with millions of stars. Granger tucked herself into his side, and he slung an arm around her shoulders, drawing her towards him.

"The circumstances may not be ideal," Draco said, idly tugging at one of her curls, "but I wanted to bring you to Italy—and here we are."

The warm chocolate in her gaze sparkled up at him, and she teased, "And you said there wouldn't be any romance in this marriage."

Wryly, he drawled, "It helps that we haven't been opposing one another at every turn."

"Yet." The word was soft and flippant, but she nudged him in the side all the same.

"Yet."

"I'm sure it's only a matter of time." Pressing her lips to his, she wore a smile when she drew away. "But I suppose we'll deal with that when we come to it—because the only alternative is that I kill you, and I can't do that."

Softly, he said, "Because of the contract."

"Exactly."

Grinning, he pulled her closer. "We've got a long day tomorrow. Get some rest." When she coiled her arms around his middle, her face dropping against his chest, Draco wondered whether he would find any of his own.

* * *

On more than one occasion, Hermione considered the thought that they might simply relocate the residence of the Nocturnus Order to the Tuscany castle, because it was not only stunningly beautiful, but it also seemed to come alive with the ancient magic it had seen through the centuries. As if at every turn, the magic of the castle reached for her own in a joyous thrall.

She hadn't had a chance to look into the journal pages she had discovered since arriving in Italy, given Malfoy had been at her side at every moment the day before, and he had already been awake when she rose from bed that morning. It wasn't that she didn't want him to know what she had found, merely that she wanted the chance to properly read the passage herself first.

It made sense that the consummation of the bonds would be required to further strengthen the affiliation—so much sense, in fact, that she wondered why it hadn't already occurred to her—and she wasn't _opposed_ to the idea. As she had told Malfoy, she had expected the consummation to be necessary earlier on.

And it wasn't that she didn't like him. He was attractive and had grown up from the spoiled boy she had known from Hogwarts. They related to one another, and she felt a connection with him already she never would have expected, not even after years of marriage.

He had been patient with her—but the few times they had taken things in that direction, nothing had come of it.

If consummation was required to strengthen the affiliation, she was more than willing.

She often wondered at the role the magic of the bonds played in the connection between them—but more likely, it only built on what had already come to exist between them.

But something caused her to hesitate—beyond learning whatever was stated about the matter in the journal. One last thing had hovered at the edges of her mind since stumbling across the pages.

Avance had been hesitant to make their true aims known, even while they had pursued multiple leads in France. The council suspected it was because of the weak power of the affiliation—and if Avance somehow had a way to determine the strength of the power their leader so sought to claim for herself...

Hermione didn't want Malfoy to gain full strength of the affiliation if it meant his life would be in immediate danger.

It was most likely irrational, and the Nocturnus guard had proven themselves capable time and again. But it meant there was a chance the only reason Avance wasn't on their doorstep was because the affiliation had not yet reached its true strength—because the bonds hadn't been consummated.

Once she had a chance to properly read through the pages, she would explain the situation to Malfoy. This, like every other matter, was be a decision to be made between them. She had no intentions of keeping private what she had learned—she just needed the time to properly process it.

Forcing her mind clear of the thoughts, Hermione looked around the table at the council before them. The possible avenues of where to begin while in Italy were staggering—and everything was shrouded in a dire need for secrecy.

Bergen would be meeting with some of his contacts—he had brought along a few from his advising team—and Glenneth had expressed an interest in fortifying the enchantments on the castle. It all left Hermione and Malfoy more or less to their own devices—which didn't leave room for much given they would be stalked by guards if they so much as tried to venture beyond the wards.

Elias Bergen had opted not to take Hugo with him this time, which meant the young man would be within the castle alongside the pair of them. Catching Malfoy's eye, Hermione felt a smile pull at her lips when he grimaced.

While far from the most important reason for being in Italy, Hermione would try to find some time to finish reading the passage. And they would discuss the situation like adults—rational, sexually driven adults.

While avoiding Hugo.

Hopefully in the coming days, there would be specific locations or people to investigate because Hermione wasn't keen on the idea of staying locked in the castle while everyone else did all the work. For the day, at least, she would visit the library they had spotted the night before on their tour.

Maybe the old resources would give them some leads on the history and motivations of Alba. A smile came to her lips at the thought.

* * *

While Malfoy's nose was buried in a book, Hermione cast a furtive glance around the library before drawing the journal from her bag. Dull candlelight flickered and lit their workspace. Curiosity had been almost overwhelming her ever since she read the initial mention the night before. Keeping the journal close to her face, she sped through the pages, feeling the blood drain from her face.

"You know I'm going to find out what you're reading," Malfoy drawled without looking up from his book. "No matter how you hide it—or how you pretend as if you aren't."

_Blast_ him and his Slytherin powers of observation.

Snickering, he went on. "It's like you're reading erotica or something."

"I'm not," she hissed, colour flaring in her cheeks.

His grey eyes finally snapped to hers. "It's fine if you are."

Huffing, she narrowed her eyes in his direction before continuing on with the journal, making an active effort to behave casually as if she had never been hiding the journal away. But he only laughed, shaking his head as he returned to his own book.

A breath chased from her lungs as she re-read the first passage once more.

_The lunar affiliation, that rare magic which possesses many facets, shall only increase in strength with the consummation of the Lunae bonds. Of course, the circumstances of the consummation are most important. With the growth of the connection between the Lunae Ortus and his Lunae Amor grows the power of the affiliation. When the bond is great, so too will be the resilience and the magic. All elements of the affiliation are not made equal, and many do not take the time to learn of its many uses, far beyond its destructive magic._

"Malfoy," Hermione ground through her teeth; despite her desire to think through it on her own, the implications about the affiliation were too important.

With a cocky smile on his face, he turned to her. "Yes? What is it you've found?"

Without looking at him, she asked, "How much do you actually know about the affiliation? This here says it possesses many uses."

Expression sobering when she glanced up, he shrugged. "As you know, there isn't much written on it. I was hoping to find some more resources on it here, but so far I'm coming up empty. What does that journal say?"

Flushing, she turned the page. "Only that it possesses many facets, and they aren't equal in power."

"The only part that's been documented is its powers of destruction," Malfoy said, leaning forward in his seat. "Which obviously you've seen a small measure of—but there are stories of Lunaes who decimated their enemies with it."

"You also fixed the roof after you damaged it," Hermione mused, chewing on the end of her quill. "I wonder whether the affiliation bends to your will, to a certain extent."

They stared at one another for a long moment, the air tense, as if something hovered just beyond the reaches of her comprehension. Finally he shook his head, leaning back. "As we know, with all magic, intent matters. So it very well could." His lips curled with a smirk, and his eyes darkened when they found hers. "I know that wasn't what had you over there blushing."

Her eyes flickered over one other statement.

_Of course, the circumstances of the consummation are most important._

There had to be more details regarding the consummation somewhere—because that wasn't something they could fix if it was incorrect. Judging by the look on Malfoy's face, she suspected he knew what she was reading, and maybe he knew something about the specifics of it—but with his smug gloating at the moment, she wasn't keen to bring it up.

"I will let you know," she clipped delicately, "when I know more."

Turning back to his book with a flicker of his brows, he said, "You do know I can guess what you're reading."

Huffing, Hermione felt a prickle of irritation. While they got on better than she had expected, he was still Malfoy, and he had only grown more versed at rubbing her the wrong way when he so chose. "Then tell me: what is it?"

"My guess," he began, voice low, "is you've come across something with regards to the consummation of the Lunae bonds given the way you're acting like a teenage girl over it. Maybe you're wondering why we haven't—or why I specifically haven't broached the topic." Flipping the page, he casually drawled, "Or you're trying to puzzle out the circumstances that will be most effective."

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help the flare of colour in her cheeks. It wasn't as if she hadn't considered it—numerous times—and they had already been moderately physical with one another. But hearing him discuss the situation with such a wry flippancy stirred something in the core of her being. Clearing her throat, she managed, "The last one."

"As I said," he carried on, carefully marking his page and setting his book aside. At last, he lifted his eyes to hers. "Intent matters. Generations of Lunaes forced their Amors into consummation and then wondered why the affiliation wouldn't serve their bidding in the way they had hoped."

"So you know," she hissed, "that consummation of the bonds will strengthen the affiliation."

Nodding, Malfoy drawled, "Yes, I know something about that. But it was never my intention to force you into anything." His eyes sparkled, and his lips curled into a smile. "_That's_ what you found."

Folding her arms, she fixed him with a stare. "Once the lunar affiliation reaches its full strength, you're vulnerable to Avance."

"That's one way to put it." Malfoy poured two glasses of water from a tall carafe in the middle of the table and took a long sip from his. "Some might suggest the full strength of the bonds, the increased power of the affiliation, would make me _less_ vulnerable."

Breaths chased rapidly from her lungs as she stared at him and sucked in a long gulp from her own glass of water. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he said, his voice light and lofty once more, "what I've always said. I'm not asking anything of you, and I'm certainly not going to force your hand. I never wanted it to feel like a requirement or an obligation. When you're ready—and _truly_ ready, because we only have one shot at it—then we will proceed. The stronger the connection between us, the stronger the bonds, and the stronger the affiliation. It all goes hand in hand—symbiotic, remember?"

Heat burned her cheeks again, and she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth; her heart leapt wildly at his genuine words. "And if the time comes—you know of the proper circumstances?"

"When this conversation is more than hypothetical," he mused, "yes. We'll address all of that."

A giggle burst from her lips despite the subject matter of the conversation. "You make this sound like a business arrangement."

"I hate to break it to you, Granger," he muttered, "but this sort of all is." For a moment, his expression faltered, and he pulled her hand into his across the table. The dim candlelight flickered and cast shadows on his face. "However, I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't _feel_ like business."

With a smile, she breathed, "I'll hold you to that."

A crooked grin swept across his face, and he opened his mouth to say something more.

"There you two are!"

Hermione blinked, withdrawing her hand; her eyes narrowed when Hugo Bergen slipped into the seat at the end of their table.

Malfoy's lip curled with a hint of disdain, but he sighed. "What is it, Hugo? Has something happened? I told the council we'd be in the library—"

"Nothing's happened," Hugo interrupted with a dismissive wave as he leaned back in his seat and folded his hands across his middle. "I'm just bored as hell. Do you know what we should do tonight?"

Pressing her lips into a thin line at the visible irritation on Malfoy's face, Hermione struggled to withhold a laugh.

"No," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "Hermione and I are going to continue studying for any information we can use. And if you're bored, you're welcome to do the same—only at a different table."

Ignoring the jab, Hugo clicked his tongue and propped his boots up on the corner of the table. "There are a lot of Nocturnus members in Italy. We should invite some people over—have a party."

"Absolutely not," Malfoy snapped. "We don't know who we can trust. I'm not alerting _anyone_ of our presence here without necessity."

Hugo rolled his eyes, dropping his head back over the edge of his seat; biting her tongue so as to avoid winding up in the middle of it, Hermione watched as Malfoy's hand tensed on the table. Hugo drawled, "You can trust Nocturnus. The guards won't let anyone inside who isn't in the Order, and you know that."

"We are not here to party," Malfoy said through a clenched jaw. "And there are far more important things at stake—as a member of the Nocturnus Council, you ought to know that."

Heaving a great sigh, Hugo said, "You know I do. But it's one night—surely we can have a few friends over."

For a moment, Hermione thought the row was going to break into a shouting match—her hand twitched towards her wand when Malfoy sighed, dropping his face into one hand. "Fine," he ground through his teeth. "You may invite a small group over—Nocturnus only. But for the love of Merlin, make sure they're all vetted by the guards before entering the grounds."

Clapping his hands together, victorious, Hugo flashed a toothy grin. "Excellent! It'll do you good to unwind."

Malfoy growled, "I'm not coming—" But Hugo was already gone. He turned to face Hermione, sucking on his teeth. "Thanks for your help."

"I wasn't getting in the middle of that," she said idly.

Sighing, he tapped the end of his quill on the table, staring blankly at the book he'd been studying. With a soft, resigned voice, he asked, "Why do I keep Hugo around?"

"Comic relief?"

Snorting, he muttered, "_Hardly_."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for your continued support on Nocturnus! I appreciate all your kind words so much, as well as your favourites, follows, and kudos. I hope you're all doing well and keeping safe.

Love to my wonderful team of alphas, LadyKenz347 and Kyonomiko, and my beta ravenslight.


	19. Chapter 19

**Content Warning: **Mentions/discussion of recreational potions usage.

* * *

A low, rhythmic beat wafted into the library, and Draco frowned, meeting Granger's stare. She lifted an unimpressed brow in return before stretching widely and stifling a yawn. With a smile, she quipped, "I can't believe you caved to Hugo's party."

Sneering, he drawled, "I needed to get him out of my face."

"Well I, for one, could use some food," she said, rising to her feet. "And it wouldn't hurt to check in and make sure Hugo and his friends haven't trashed the entire castle."

Dragging a hand down his face, Draco shook his head. Wordlessly, he began packing some of the books they'd been studying into his bag; at Granger's words, his own stomach had awakened with a vicious hunger, and it occurred to him they had been tucked away in the library for the majority of the day. He hadn't heard anything back from Elias Bergen yet, but the man sometimes went out for long stretches at a time.

They ventured towards the kitchens after stowing their things in the Lunae quarters. Podski and two of the other Malfoy Manor elves had Apparated into the castle with their special brand of magic and had prepared a brilliant spread. Several of the guards were already eating at a long table in the dining hall, and two others stood guard in the next room where the raucous noise was coming from.

Draco approached the nearest one while Granger sidled into the room. "Ben, please tell me all of Hugo's friends were properly vetted."

"Yes, sir, Lunae," Ben said with a crisp nod. "Nothing to worry about."

Lifting a brow, Draco said, "Unless they start damaging the place. You have full permission to kick anyone out." Ben chuckled as he retreated to the kitchen.

Sometimes he felt strange, not having grown up within the Nocturnus circles, when his family had played such a significant role for so many years. Not for the first time, he wondered how things might have played out differently had he been raised in Nocturnus tradition—rather than groomed as a Death Eater.

Collecting a plate of Podski's finest experimental hors d'oeuvres, Draco ventured into the sitting room where Hugo's friends were to find Granger seated on one of the couches. As one, the eyes of everyone in the room turned to him. Hugo leapt to his feet, dipping his head into a bow, and Draco waved a dismissive hand with a muttered, "Hello."

When he took a closer look around, doing his best to ignore the hushed silence that had fallen over the group, he noticed Hugo's sister, Cynthia Bergen, and his girlfriend Madeline in attendance, along with another eight or ten people around their age, some of whom Draco vaguely recognised from the Lunae Amor selection process; his discomfort with the situation grew.

Granger plucked a crostini from his plate, tucking her feet beneath herself, and slowly the conversation returned to normal; a few of the girls still stared at him as he slung an arm around her shoulders and ducked in closer. "Are you serious? You want to stay here?"

A wry smile pulled at her lips. "We can give it a few minutes. Unless you want to go now."

Grimacing, he muttered, "It's fine."

While he selected a bite from the plate, Granger leaned in and asked, quietly enough that no one else would hear, "How many of these ladies were at your open call?"

With another quick look around, Draco frowned and replied, "All of them."

"Even Madeline?"

Hugo and his girlfriend were cuddled up on one of the many rugs in the expansive space, and he nodded. "Certainly Madeline—she's Nocturnus, so her family would have required her to attend. The call was for anyone, obviously, but you can bet any available woman from within Nocturnus would have been there."

Granger tensed, her eyes tight as she gazed pensively at the room. Crossing her legs, she turned to face him. "Is that awkward then, with Hugo?"

"My relationship with Hugo is awkward for a lot of reasons," Draco intoned with a smirk, "but I don't think that's one of them. He understands how things are—better than I did at first, I wager."

"I suppose it worked out," she mused, chewing a bite thoughtfully. "But I can only imagine having him on the council if you had selected her would have made for an interesting dynamic."

Barking a laugh, Draco glanced back at the girl. Despite her long blonde hair and classic beauty, the girl hadn't appealed to him; she had presented as empty a shell as any of the other pureblood girls he had met that day. Lips twitching, he said, "Good thing I chose the one that will always keep me on my toes, then. It's a much preferable dynamic."

Smiling, she popped another bite into her mouth and once she'd swallowed said, "I agree."

Draco could still feel the stares of the others lingering on him, and he kept his focus on Granger until one of the girls said, "Hey Lunae. Are you going to party with us?" Snapping his face towards the girl, he lifted a hand on instinct when she tossed a vial his way.

Staring at the shimmering contents of the small vial, he frowned, before noticing the group were distributing them around. Granger's eyes met his for a brief moment, her expression unreadable.

His stomach twisted into knots as he forced a thick swallow and set the vial down on the coffee table with a crisp, "No, thank you."

"Come on," Hugo intoned with a grin, and Draco felt his lip pull into a sneer. "No harm in it."

"Maybe," Granger breathed at his side, something unsettled in her face as she stared at him, "it's time for us to retire."

With a quick exhale of relief, he nodded. Disdain settled, tight, into his chest with the beating of his heart, and he pressed a kiss to her temple before rising and helping her to his feet. "Hermione and I will leave you to your celebrations."

Ignoring the rest of the group as his vision blurred around him, he slipped his hand into hers and, with careful effort not to rush, left the room. Clapping a hand to Ben's shoulder, he muttered, "You're in charge—and I certainly don't envy you."

Ducking his chin, Ben replied, "Lunae."

As they walked, aimless, through the castle, Granger eyed him tentatively. "Are you alright?"

He pursed his lips, "I do not advocate for the recreational use of potions—_abuse_, in this case, based on what they just offered."

Slipping an arm around his back, she tucked into his side. "Neither do I. From what I heard, there was a lot of that sort of thing after the war ended."

"Numbing," Draco bit out. "That's what it was… for me." He despised the sympathy on her face and quickly added, "It wasn't so bad. Just Dreamless Sleep, at first—but then I modified it to remove the sleep agent, and without that, you sort of just exist in an unfeeling haze." Shrugging, he added, "I gave them up after a couple of months before it became too bad. But I knew people who went through a lot of grief over that same potion they had there tonight."

Stopping, she turned to face him, a curious tilt to her head. "Is that why you didn't tell me about your potions mastery?"

"I don't like to think about it," he said, sucking his teeth. "And the mastery reminds me of my own weakness after the war."

Running a hand down his arm, she said, "Please don't discount your own strength in walking away. And… in the man you are now. Thank you for telling me."

Swallowing thickly, he nodded. "It was a long time ago. I know I'm not that person anymore… but sometimes it's easy to forget."

"Like tonight," she intoned, her chin low.

Holding her gaze, he echoed, "Like tonight."

"Come on," Granger whispered, slipping her hand into his. "We'll have our own party, just you and I. And it'll be better."

A real smile crossed his face, and he snickered. "So much better."

"Chin up," she breathed. "Your crown will slip."

* * *

"So," Hermione prompted, leaning over the rail of the expansive balcony in the Lunae quarters. The moon sat high in the night sky, and a peace had come over Malfoy since they had stepped outside. Despite the hour, a warm breeze lingered on the Italian air. "How long will we stay here?"

Shaking his head, he turned to look at her. "I suppose that depends on what we find. I know I don't intend on sitting in the library the whole time we're here. Tomorrow we'll do something more proactive with our time—but it's good for Bergen to connect with his contacts."

"I just keep wondering what will come of all this," she said thoughtfully as she stared up into the sky. "And I have to remind myself that it isn't that simple, and to take everything as it comes."

"It's difficult to relinquish control," he agreed. "But so much of this is beyond our control right now." His gaze flickered to hers, and he released a low chuckle. "I'm glad I have you to talk to about this. Merlin, if I could have heard myself six months ago."

Laughing, Hermione turned to face him, leaning back against the balustrade. "I know what you mean. If I'd told myself I'd be married to you… and that I'd be _happy_ about it."

A heavy significance sat behind the grey in his eyes, and he ducked in, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. Lacing her fingers into his hair, she drew him closer. When he pulled away, staring down at her, she pressed her lips together, forcing a swallow.

"Suppose the conversation we had earlier wasn't hypothetical," she breathed, nerves crawling along her skin. A breath hitched in his throat, and he pressed another kiss to the curve of her jaw.

"It was," he murmured against her skin, before drawing back again. "Wasn't it?"

Steeling her nerves, she looked him in the eye. "Let's say it wasn't."

"Hermione…" Expression guarded, he shifted to her side along the balustrade. "You don't need to do anything if you aren't ready. I told you that I'm not going to ask—"

"You don't need to." Stepping closer, she fidgeted with the buttons of his shirt, slipping the top few loose. "What are the conditions?"

Silence fell over them as he stared at her, and Hermione fought the urge to shift on her feet—the urge to run from the heat in his eyes. Or, more pressing, the desire to claim him for her own. Finally he swept a hand through his hair and said, "I told you earlier—the most important thing is the connection between Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor."

Dragging her fingertips down his jaw, she mused, "And?"

"And the moon. It isn't very complicated."

With a wry smile, she murmured, "Why am I not surprised? So we're meant to have sex outdoors?"

Lips parted, he deadpanned, "You're serious about this."

"Why do you think I was asking you about it earlier?"

"Because you read it in a book and you're naturally curious as hell." Sweeping his hands down her arms, he squinted at her for a moment. "I don't think it's meant to imply _outdoors_. So long as the moon is present. Or, for instance, the room has a massive exposed opening."

Staring into the Lunae quarters, Hermione said, "I suppose this room was built with such specifications in mind."

Malfoy only frowned. "I don't want you to do this because you feel like you should. Or because you think it's what's best for the Order."

"I don't." Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she wrapped her arms around herself. "But if you aren't interested now, that's fine."

Shame coloured her cheeks as Hermione turned to walk inside; judging by his reticence, she had obviously misjudged the situation between them. Surely he realised they would have to consummate the bonds sooner or later, but the moment she'd brought it up he had gone stiff and hesitant.

"Granger." His hand landed on her elbow and she froze mid-step. His voice was low behind her, but she feared turning to face him, humiliation roiling within her. "I never said I wasn't interested." With a sigh, she shifted to cast him a sidelong glance; indecision warred on his face. "You've given up so much for this already. I don't want to take the freedom of this decision from you. I guess…" Trailing off, he shook his head. "It sort of feels like the last thing I can offer you that you haven't already given up."

A weak hint of a sad smile pulled at her lips as she met his eyes. "I don't feel like I've given all that much up anymore." Exhaling a shaky breath, she steadied herself. "Maybe I want this." Taking a step towards him, she quickly added, "If you do."

Malfoy grimaced, a mix of confusion and exasperation. "You're asking me, your husband, if I want to sleep with you."

"I'll take that as a yes," she breathed.

Under his breath, he muttered, "Hell yes," before drawing her in and crushing her lips to his.

Twining her hands around his neck, Hermione kissed him, feeling his magic reach for her own as he deepened the kiss, running his hands down her back to hitch her body against his. When he dragged his teeth along the line of her jaw, meticulously sucking at the soft skin there, Hermione groaned, feeling the magic of the bonds awaken and push forth towards him.

Returning to the buttons of his shirt, she made quick work of the garment before pushing it from his shoulders. When he pulled her jumper over her head, eyes darkened, she felt the night air wash over her bare arms from the open wall into the balcony, but the air remained comfortably warm. Tugging her tank top off next and leaving her in just her bra, he gazed upon her with an inscrutable look to his face.

Kissing her once, he breathed, "You're stunning."

Meeting his stare with a smile, Hermione grasped the buckle of his belt, slipping it free from his trousers where they were slung low on the cut of his hips. She released the closure, pushing his trousers down, and he eyed her with a heated smirk when she reached to palm him through his pants.

Then catching her off guard, Malfoy slung her over his shoulder and dropped her into the massive bed in the middle of the chamber; lips parted, he stared down at her for a moment before climbing atop her and finding her lips with his. As he kissed her, teasing and desirous, his other hand reached for the waist of her skirt, bunching the fabric as he clutched a handful of her arse.

With a tight exhale, Hermione ground against him, a groan escaping as she snagged her lower lip between her teeth when he trailed a line of kisses down her throat to her chest. Releasing the clasp of her bra, he lingered for a moment, taking one of her nipples and then the next between his lips; her eyes rolled back with a soft whimper. Tugging her skirt from her waist, his eyes flashed when he played with the lace of her knickers, a smirk curling his lips.

Quietly, he asked, "You're sure about this?"

The light of the moon filtered in from overhead through the balcony, its pale silver light the only source of illumination in the room. Malfoy's pale hair shone, and his eyes sparkled with the magic of the bonds within him. Breathless, feeling their magic freely course and entwine, she nodded. "I'm sure."

Pressing a gentle kiss to her belly, he dragged her knickers down her legs before shucking his own pants. Fully nude, he gazed upon her, and a breath caught in her throat. In a half-hearted effort to relieve some of the tension lingering between them, Hermione asked, "There's no ancient Latin ritual or something for this, is there?"

He huffed a laugh, a true grin gracing his features. Reaching for her hand, he swept the pad of his thumb over the crescent at her wrist; a jolt of desire swept through her, and she tugged him down on top of her. "No," he muttered, kissing her, "there isn't," then added with a snicker, "thank Merlin."

Longing pulsed through her, setting alight every nerve of her being, and when he slid one finger inside of her, gaze fixed on hers, she gasped, clutching him as her eyelids fluttered. When he inserted a second, reverent and cautious, Hermione was certain she was going to come undone before they could even consummate the bonds. A cry chased from her throat when his thumb swept the sensitive flesh of her clitoris, and she dragged his mouth to hers with a hissed, "_Malfoy_."

She could feel the smirk against her lips, and moments later he withdrew his fingers, positioning himself at her entrance. He breathed beside her ear, "My Amor," before pushing into her in one swift movement.

Light exploded behind her eyes. Magic raced and danced through her, mingling with his, and his lips captured hers in a kiss of passion, of desperation, as he drew out and pushed forth again, setting a tantalising rhythm that caused Hermione's heart to leap into an anxious, throbbing cadence.

Malfoy's harsh breaths mingled with her own as she arched into him, dragging her hands down the smooth muscle of his back, and as his lips latched onto her neck, she breathed, "More."

On a quiet exhale, he said, "As you wish."

When his pace escalated, driving into her with greater force, a cry escaped from deep within her as the Lunae bonds reached towards him, entwining with his magic irrevocably, and emotion stung at the corners of her eyes from the feel of it. His lips fluttered against hers, his hands dragging her still closer as his forehead pressed to her own, soft sounds pulling from within her as her core tensed and coiled.

Never had she felt such a moment of connection.

Hovering on the brink of something she couldn't put into words if she tried, Hermione groaned a soft, reverent, "_Draco_," and with a sweep of his thumb across her clitoris she broke, orgasm cresting through her with a darkening of her vision.

With a few more thrusts he stilled, his breathing heavy as he buried his face in her neck.

Emotion and magic mingled within her as one, and she could feel the bonds twisting together between them.

Withdrawing, he shifted to lay beside her, his grey eyes sparkling with a depth of emotion she couldn't name. Lost for words, she drew him close, moisture breaking from her eyes as she pressed her lips to his. He swept the hair from her face, throat bobbing with a swallow, and a barely-there hint of a smile lifted his lips.

A sleepy smile drifted to her face as she stared at him, and she felt raw in a way she couldn't fathom. Magic and heartbeat slowing into a lull, she faded in his arms.

* * *

Startled awake, Draco's eyes snapped open. In an instant, he felt different—fortified.

In the darkness of the room, lit only by the distant light of the moon, he caught sight of the shimmering crescent on his wrist, sparkling and aglow. Magic pulsed and roared in his veins, urgent and celebratory, and a grin tugged at his lips.

Hermione lay asleep at his side, a smile curling her lips in sleep, and he stared at her for a long moment before brushing his lips against her forehead. Remembering their evening, his heart leapt to life in his chest.

Rising from bed, he walked to the balcony, feeling the last vestiges of moonlight calling to his very being. The bonds raced through his arm, magic twisting and swirling in his veins. As he lifted a hand, the lunar affiliation flared to life without effort, the iridescent magic collecting and pushing forth from within him and hovering all around.

The chill of the air felt good against his bare body, and he allowed his eyelids to flutter as he gazed out upon the rolling hills of Tuscany, magic playing against his skin.

A slow grin crept across Draco's face and with a flourish of his hand, the magic chased forth, freed from within his veins, and flew from his palm into the sky before breaking and dissipating as a shimmer on the night air.

He could feel it, pounding alongside his heart and tingling at the tips of his fingers. The full strength of the lunar affiliation.

...

_End Part 1_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you all SO much for sticking with this story so far. We're about to dive into Part 2, and I hope it's going to get interesting! I'm so grateful for all your support and wonderful, encouraging words. I hope you're all continuing to keep safe and healthy.

This story wouldn't be what it is without the help of my alphas Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and my beta ravenslight.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Part 2: Evalesco**_

Stirring into awareness, Draco drowsily blinked his eyes open to find Hermione's sleepy stare on him. Remembering what had happened the night before, he felt her magic as surely as his own with her close proximity. A hesitant smile pulled up the corners of her mouth as she stared at him.

Voice thick with sleep, she said, "Hi."

"Hello."

Draco had yet to determine—and couldn't quite tell by the atmosphere between them—whether he was meant to feel awkward. The crescent on his wrist tingled, and when he shifted his arm, it shone a shimmery silver. Eyes widening slightly, Granger brushed the tips of her fingers over the mark, shooting a jolt of energy coursing through him.

Swallowing, she asked, "Do you feel any different? After last night?"

"Yes." Reaching for her hand, he peered at her identical mark before pressing his lips to the skin of her wrist. When she released a sharp exhale, he smirked. "Do you?"

"I'm not… certain," she gasped when he sucked on the marked flesh, grazing it with his teeth. Lips parted, she breathed, "I think so." Her face grew flushed, and Draco had to distract himself from the thoughts that she was nude beneath the covers, given he wasn't yet certain of her opinions on morning sex.

Focusing instead on the magic, alive and vibrant through his veins he said, "Look at this." With minimal conscious effort, he drew the affiliation out, allowing the silvery magic to hover above his hand, gazing up at it. "No moon."

Indeed, the sun had already risen beyond the balcony, and Granger's lips curled with a smile as she floated her fingers through the magic. Reverent, she breathed, "That's fantastic. I wonder if I'll ever be able to access some of the affiliation, given how bonded our magic is."

"I think you could," he replied, allowing the magic to flutter away. "You might need to practise—but if anyone can make it work, it'll be you."

Her cheeks wore a dull pink flush, and she shifted her face towards his pillow. "I appreciate that—but if the affiliation was always what set the Lunae Ortus apart—"

"Then it's about time a Lunae Amor learned to harness it," he finished with a crooked grin before ducking in to plant a kiss on her lips.

Though he made to withdraw after a chaste kiss, her hands instead came up to graze the stubble on his jaw, and she kissed him in return, deep and sensual. Against his lips she whispered, "I had a nice time last night."

"So did I." Pulling her closer, his body flared to life, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when she reached a hand down to grasp him beneath the covers.

Dragging her fingers along his hardening length in a few languorous pumps, she asked, "Do we have anywhere we need to be this morning?"

Managing a choked, "Definitely not," he slipped two fingers between her legs, finding her already wet. With a smirk, he kissed her again and murmured, "This is _exactly_ where we need to be right now."

When Granger shifted him onto his back and climbed atop him without preamble, his eyes rolled. Proclivity for morning sex was a definite plus.

* * *

When they descended from the Lunae tower sometime around mid-morning, Hermione couldn't keep a flush from her face with the way Malfoy was staring at her. Between the night before and that morning, she felt more sated than she had been in a long time, her limbs weak and watery. She couldn't help but return his secretive smile.

Jarring her from the unclean narrative floating through her mind was Elias Bergen's sharp, "Lunae Ortus—Lunae Amor. I bring news."

Straightening in an instant, Hermione turned towards the central sitting room where Bergen stood with Glenneth; Malfoy schooled his expression with a nod. "Yes? What have you learned?"

"We've discovered an old, abandoned Alba stronghold." Bergen wore a strict expression as he stared between them. "It's difficult to say without going in how recently it's been used, but we didn't want to go too far without informing you. How would you like to proceed?"

Glancing at her for a brief moment, Draco announced, "We will investigate it. Today. If there's a chance of finding something that might prove useful, we need to take it. How do you know it's abandoned and not simply warded to appear so?"

Adjusting his robes, Bergen stared around the small group. "We were able to trace any human activity through the past few years, and nothing turned up."

Hermione frowned, considering the thought. "We're sure this method of tracing is valid?" The last thing they needed to do was to walk right into an Alba base without being adequately prepared. Because an encounter with Alba would not only reveal their presence in Italy, but also their knowledge of the connection between Alba and Avance.

Bergen dropped his head into a deep nod. "Yes, Lunae Amor. The trace has been confirmed by the high mage."

Malfoy clapped his hands together. "Then we proceed—and we will bring a guard presence in case of trouble. Any of the Nocturnus Guard who are not on shift protecting the castle."

"Yes, Lunae." Bergen nodded again. "I will speak with Dagomir, and we will prepare to depart in one hour."

Levelling another significant look her way, Malfoy confirmed, "One hour." With a grimace, he turned to leave the room in the direction from which they'd come, and once they were in the spiralling stairwell back to the Lunae quarters, he said, "I'm not even going to ask if you want to stay back."

Smiling, Hermione mused, "That's wise of you."

Shaking his head, he said, "It sounds as if it isn't dangerous. But you never know—it could be ancient."

"It likely is," she agreed, twisting her mouth to the side. "There could be traps and ancient spells we don't know how to disarm." Smiling, she added, "Fascinating, isn't it?"

"Fascinating," he echoed, making a face. "You're such a Gryffindor I can't stand it. Just promise me you aren't going to run into something _fascinating_ and get yourself sliced in two."

"That," she breathed with a wince, "is a mental image I could have gone without."

Matter-of-factly, Malfoy lifted his brows and proceeded to throw some things into a rucksack. "Well, now you'll think twice before running into something fascinating, won't you?"

Huffing a breath through her nose, she muttered, loud enough so he could hear, "Tosser."

A cocky grin split his face.

* * *

Gazing upon the exterior of the Alba stronghold, Draco felt a sharp frisson of nerves creep along the length of his spine. Granger stood at his side, her expression significantly less certain than she had been an hour earlier when she had joked about the possibility of unknown curses hidden within.

The guard contingent was likely overkill, but Dagomir insisted they were knowledgeable in the detection and disarming of curses—and that they had all taken an oath to defend their Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor with their lives. Draco had grimaced at the thought; if the stronghold had been abandoned for some indeterminate length of time, he didn't anticipate anyone losing their lives today. But if there was information to be discovered, they needed to take the opportunity before the situation changed.

The building itself was loaded with protective wards and enchantments, and Draco waited by Granger's side as the mages broke through them with skillful ease. He was reminded of his first visit to Italy with Bergen, when they had ventured into the shady underground basement of a dilapidated vineyard to meet with an equally shady contact.

Everything to do with Alba felt shady, if he was honest. But as they had always been the self-proclaimed sworn enemies of the Nocturnus Order, that was to be expected.

He could only hope they didn't come across any members of Alba—and pray to Merlin they didn't trigger anything with their presence. The last thing he needed was for Alba to realise the extent of what they had learned about Cosette.

The entrance into the stronghold was a door so covered in twisting vines and branches it would have been easy to overlook. Crumbling stone turrets stood across the fortified walls, and from his vantage point, Draco could see where the stronghold could have been utilised in battle. Narrow balistrariae interrupted the sturdy walls of the battlements, and watchtowers stood tall at the corners, the nearest missing a large chunk from its side.

Feeling trepidation course through him, he exchanged a look with Granger; her fingers brushed against his, and he gave her hand a squeeze.

A drawbridge hung, lowered on rusty chains, several of its boards rotted and broken. Once Glenneth announced he had broken through the last of the protective enchantments, a handful of the Nocturnus Guard ventured down the length of the bridge. Blowing out a breath, Draco stepped forward, Granger at his side and Hugo and Elias Bergen at his tail.

Hugo hadn't looked entirely well when the group assembled to leave, and Draco smirked at the thought. Perhaps he wouldn't have wanted to throw a party the night before had he realised they'd be exploring an old Alba fortress the next afternoon. Once inside the stronghold, tension lingered in the air, at odds with Draco's magic and leaving him with a deep sense of unease.

The group divided in two, and Draco's half descended a staircase carved from stone, the steps so ancient the material itself had been worn into a smooth depression in the centre of each step. Tangled vines hung from the ceiling where they had broken through the cracks in the stone, and puddles of stagnant, murky water lingered every so often. The only light was from their wandtips, casting ominous shadows on the walls as they walked.

At his side, wide-eyed and tense, Granger whispered, "This is unpleasant."

Behind them, Hugo scoffed. "That's putting it mildly."

Firing him a glare as if spoken words would draw forth Alba from the walls, Draco ventured farther on. Their half of the guard was proficient in scouring the pathway for spells as they walked ahead, but so far nothing had turned up.

A damp, mildewy scent pervaded the entire space, and as they made their way into a larger chamber, a labyrinth of pathways led in every direction. In one corner, a series of chained cells stood, questionable stains on the floor, and Draco was glad he hadn't had time to eat a large meal.

"It looks like they left in a hurry," Granger observed, gazing around the room. Following her lead, he nodded, stepping towards a large wooden table covered in assorted magical and non-magical miscellanea. A few torches had been haphazardly cast aside and long since burned out, a handful of abandoned coins he didn't recognise, and some small burlap sacks. A sword leaned against the far wall, and Hugo drew it from its sheath with a grin.

Frowning, Draco watched, half expecting something to leap out at them—the other half of him expected Hugo to somehow injure himself.

"There are some books here," one of the guards called, and Draco strode towards the bookshelf, rifling through the ancient tomes; a smirk pulled at his lips at the concentration on Granger's face as she stacked several books on the table.

One of the covers boasted an emblem of the sun rising over the horizon, and Draco's heart leapt with a jolt; it was the same image that was stitched into the leather sheath of the sword Hugo had found.

Granger whispered, "Should we take the books?"

Hesitating for a moment, Draco nodded. "If this place is abandoned, they won't need them anymore." Turning backwards, he said pointedly to Hugo, "_Leave_ the sword."

With a forced press of the lips, Hugo hedged, "My question is what were they doing fighting with swords when they had magic?"

"The history between Alba and the Nocturnus Order is messy," Glenneth answered, stalking forward to inspect the books Granger was collecting into her beaded bag. "A rivalry bore on for centuries between the two—it was vicious, and it was bloody. For many an age, they cared only for causing harm to the other—no matter the method."

A sneer curled Draco's upper lip at the thought. "And now they're back. Joy."

"The more we can learn about them, the better we can identify their motives now," Granger mused, sweeping through the bookshelf for anything else she could take.

The mage stalked after the guards where they began advancing down several of the branching pathways. "It will not do to linger."

Nodding, Draco stepped to Granger's side, making to follow, when several things happened at once.

Glenneth jumped back, startled; a few of the guards tore around the corner from alternate passageways; and a man at the end of the nearest corridor released a strangled shout.

Drawing his wand in an instant, Draco stepped forward as one of the guards shouted, "Lunae, no!"

Heart racing, he scrambled ahead just behind the other guards; at the end of the passage was a dead end, and one of the guards lay on the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest. Dark blood seeped from the wound and stained the silver embroidery on his uniform. Gaping, Draco found himself thrust backwards against the wall in the narrow corridor.

"A trap," one of the guards hissed, gesturing to an indenture in the wall where the arrow had originated. Turning to another guard, he muttered, "Get Richards back to see a healer."

The second guard nodded before grasping the arm of the injured man—Draco didn't dare think otherwise—and Disapparated.

"Lunae, we need to get you out of here. I'll alert my father and Dagomir," Hugo growled, casting his Patronus in an instant. Vaguely, Draco watched for a moment as the small fox twisted and drifted away.

The group dashed back towards the main chamber, and to his relief Granger still stood with the mage and several guards.

From the opposite corner of the room came a scuffling sound, and heart pouding from the occurrences of the previous moments, Draco whirled towards it, lifting his hand on instinct. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and without even realising what he was doing, a sphere of white magic burst from his hand, racing in the direction of the noise.

The affiliation burst and broke on a stone pillar in a great rumbling collapse of dust and rubble. Startled and wide-eyed, he huffed an exhale, unable to look away from the destruction he'd wrought. Fear and trepidation tingled at the ends of his nerves, his hand pulsing with raw magic as he stared down at the shimmer of his fingers.

"Fuck," Hugo choked, dragging Draco back by the arm, "Lunae, we've got to _go_."

Slowly, as if in a delayed reaction, the ceiling began to crumble where the pillar had supported it, great chunks of stone falling to the ground with a cacophony of chaos; blinking rapidly, Draco had time only to meet Granger's gaze and see her reaching for him before she was side-along Apparated from the room. Moments later, Hugo's fingers tightened around his own arm and he was pulled from the collapse in a twist of magic.

* * *

Malfoy had been borderline catatonic since they had arrived back at the Nocturnus castle, staring blankly out the window, his hands clenched tightly together in his lap.

Taking up a seat in the chair across from him, Hermione leaned forwards. "Are you okay?"

Throat bobbing with a thick swallow, he nodded. "Yes." Meeting her gaze for a fleeting instant, he added, "Trying to wrap my head around everything."

A somber-faced guard had walked into the room half an hour prior to announce that Richards, the guard who had been injured in the arrow trap, had not survived. Hermione's eyes still stung at the thought, at the knowledge the man had been lost in an effort to keep the rest of them safe.

Brow furrowed, Malfoy had nodded with a grim, "Thank you for letting me know."

She had only swiped at her eyes, lost for words; she hadn't even known his given name.

"So much effort into scouring for magic—that trap he triggered was Muggle." Dropping his head into his hands, he bit out, "What do I say to his family?"

Quietly, she said, "That he was killed in the line of duty, protecting his Lunaes. That he was a hero today; he could have prevented others from meeting a similar fate if there were other traps." She glanced away, sucking in a breath, and hedged, "You released the affiliation. Was it intentional?"

He looked up, unfurling the fingers of his marked hand as he shook his head. "It was not. I heard something—and it just…"

"I heard it too," she whispered. "But I don't know what it was."

With a grimace, he looked square at her. "If it was a person—if they were _Alba_—we're fucked."

Unable to deny his words, she turned to stare through the window. If a member of Alba had been in that basement, they would have not only realised the truth of the situation—that the Nocturnus Order was investigating them—but also that Draco was in possession of the full lunar affiliation. The moon had been nowhere near accessible in that dank basement. "Elias said the stronghold was abandoned. Or, at least, it hadn't been used in at least a few years. But from the looks of things there, it had been much longer than that."

The despair and self-loathing tinging his tone broke something within her as he muttered, "And I destroyed it. So if they ever do go there—Hermione, it will look like an act of war."

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she nodded then rose to take up the seat at his side. "There's nothing we can do right now about what happened today." Fear lingered below the surface of her skin, but she steeled her countenance, pulling his hand into hers. "All we can do now is move forward, however that looks."

Malfoy only continued to stare at his hand. "I'll speak with the high mage—about learning to hone it and control it. Based on what we saw today, Alba isn't playing around, and the better equipped we are to deal with them…"

When he trailed off, his jaw clenched in a hard line, she nodded, dragging her thumb across the back of his hand. "We'll be prepared, Draco. I'll study the books we found today—some of them aren't in English, so we'll need some help on that front… but anything we can learn will be beneficial."

Silently, he pressed a kiss to her temple, then left his forehead to linger against the side of her head. Scarcely above a whisper, he breathed, "I don't think I'm ready for this."

"Neither am I." Tears of despair and anguish stung at her eyes. A man had lost his life—and she had a terrible feeling he wouldn't be the last. "I thought one war was enough for a lifetime. But we'll deal with this all however we must." Turning to look at him, she implored, "And we're in this together. For better or worse."

Hermione could see the pain in his gaze, but when his eyes shuttered, he nodded, stoic. His fingers entwined with her own, and with a grimace, he muttered, "Or worse."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Here we gooo, Part 2! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you all for reading! I don't always have time to reply to reviews, but they all mean so much to me and I'm so grateful so many of you are along for the ride with me. It's about to get exciting (I hope)!

Alpha love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and beta hugs to ravenslight!


	21. Chapter 21

Chewing on the end of her quill, Hermione sorted through the piles of books they'd seized from the Alba stronghold before it had collapsed. According to a handful of guards who had returned to assess the situation, much of the basement had caved in and become inaccessible.

Malfoy had released a string of curses, swept a hand through his hair, and announced he needed to speak with the high mage.

Hermione, sensing he would require some time on his own, had ventured towards the castle library to begin dissecting the resources. In hindsight, she no longer felt any guilt over claiming the books when they likely would have been lost to history otherwise without the significant effort of removing the rubble and stone.

The problem was that the book she was the most keen to delve into—the ancient one with what they had surmised to be the symbol of Alba on the cover—was written in some dialect of Italian. She hoped Glenneth would be able to help but didn't care to bother him when she knew Malfoy had explicitly announced his intentions to speak with the mage. Perhaps Oro, the court scribe, could be of some help, but he had remained behind in England.

Deep in thought, Hermione glanced up, startled, when someone took the seat opposite her at her table. Half expecting it to be Malfoy, she slammed her mouth shut when she met the rich green eyes of Hugo Bergen.

"Hugo," she greeted, idly opening the cover of one of the other books—Italian as well. "What brings you here?"

His expression uncertain, he gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I thought maybe you could use a hand. And… I wanted to be sure the Lunae is alright."

Glancing at him, she said, "He is with the High Mage. I think he is as well as can be expected. And unless you can read Italian, you probably can't help me."

Hugo drew the tome with the sunrise on its cover towards himself, clicking his tongue several times in quick succession. "I cannot read Italian—but I know someone who does."

"Don't tell me it's another of your friends," she huffed, even as she recognised the necessity of reading the book's contents. "This is private, even among Nocturnus."

Hesitating for a moment, Hugo stared at her before returning the book. "It's my girlfriend Madeline. She studied in Italy for a year after we left Durmstrang."

"Oh." Twisting her lips to the side, she asked, "Is that where you two met?"

Hugo nodded, leaning back in his seat. "We started dating during our sixth year; now just past eight years together."

"Eight years," Hermione echoed, feeling curiosity spring up within her. "Draco said she attended his call for the Lunae Amor." When Hugo's expression fell stoic other than a hardness to his jaw, she asked, "Did that bother you?"

Hugo responded, "Of course it did."

"But you understood?"

Sighing, he fixed her with a long stare. "I did. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved she wasn't selected. But if she had been… it's Nocturnus rule, and Nocturnus above all else when you grow up in it like we did. I would have done my duties to the best of my ability regardless."

Quietly, Hermione said, "I'm glad it worked out, then. For both of your sakes."

"Madeline didn't want to be the Lunae Amor," he said, idly drawing on a blank sheet of parchment with one of her quills. "She wanted to stay with me. But if she would have so much as mentioned it to her parents… I don't know what she said to the Lunae Ortus, but she was quite certain he wasn't going to choose her. Perhaps she downplayed herself. I don't know. But she is quite intelligent—I think you and she would get along."

Hermione offered a nod, considering his words. "I'll meet with her if she can help me decipher this text. It may prove useful." After another moment of silence, she added, "I have a friend who went to Durmstrang, but he would have been a few years ahead of you—Viktor Krum."

A roguish grin split Hugo's face. "I knew Viktor a little. Fantastic seeker."

"Did you play Quidditch?"

Canting his head back and forth, Hugo muttered, "I tried. I was never the greatest flier. I'm told the Lunae Ortus played seeker as well, at Hogwarts."

"He did," Hermione said, a vague smile drifting across her face to think back on it. "My best friend was the seeker for an opposing house, and they used to have an intense rivalry."

"It's interesting," Hugo mused, "to think of him in such a capacity. A student at school, playing Quidditch. When I was raised knowing his name—knowing I may one day serve him. And now I have such an opportunity."

Meeting his gaze, she leaned forward in her seat. "It's strange to me to hear you all speak of him with such reverence. I'm not sure how much you know, but Draco and I did _not_ get along at Hogwarts. Although of course… you share those same views on blood purity."

Some of the companionable feel to the conversation dissipated as Hermione recalled her first impression of Hugo—that he had attempted to deter Malfoy from selecting her because of her blood status.

But he only waved a hand. "At Durmstrang, there was a great emphasis on blood purity. I may have been heavy handed in my initial judgement of you, but to hear the stories of your war in Great Britain… I cannot imagine being so blinded by something so inconsequential. It is readily apparent you are both brilliant and excellent with your magic—two things that matter far more than your lineage."

Taken aback, Hermione said quietly, "Thanks, Hugo."

He went on, glancing away. "I know the Lunae Ortus doesn't take me seriously. And I shouldn't expect him to, as I have not earned his respect." Expression hardening, he met her stare again. "But know that I hold my duties with the Order to the highest level—and I would not hesitate to give my life in your defense."

With a tight smile, she responded, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"In light of recent events…" Hugo flipped through one of the other books, trailing off. "It feels as if it needs to be said."

Feeling unease settle in the pit of her stomach at the recollection of the lost guard, she nodded, and a heavy silence fell over them. Hermione flinched when a hand grazed her shoulder and Malfoy dropped into the seat beside her.

He lifted a brow and stared between the two of them, before turning to Hermione. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," she said, gesturing at the books. "Madeline is going to help me with the Italian translations. Are you alright?"

With a hint of a grimace, he nodded. "I needed to ask Glenneth a few things about the affiliation." Turning towards Hugo, his brows lowered. "And _you_—" He offered a somewhat stilted smile and blew out a long breath. "Thank you—for getting me out of that basement. You acted faster than I could think."

Hugo ducked his head into a deep bow. Glancing between them, he said, "Aside from the fact that it is quite literally my job—it was my honour. I am only sorry things did not go as planned."

Hermione could see the calculating look in Malfoy's eye as he stared at Hugo for a long moment. Then, as if making some sort of a decision, he nodded. "As am I. I was lucky, in that moment, that I had you at my side."

His hand gripped her thigh beneath the table, and Hermione dropped her own on top, entwining their fingers.

Hugo's eyes looked a little glassy when he offered a wry smile in return. "I would do it again and again." Then he chuckled and added, "And might I say, you can shoot the moon from your hands, Lunae. It's the most badass thing I've ever seen."

Huffing a surprised laugh, Malfoy cracked a grin. "Let's hope I can figure out how to control it."

* * *

"So." Idly jotting a few things down on a sheet of parchment, Hermione turned towards Malfoy in the dim candlelight of the library. "What did Glenneth tell you about the affiliation?"

Malfoy was pensive for a moment, staring at the Italian book about Alba. "He couldn't tell me much. He was young during the rule of my great-grandfather, and he only knows what's been passed down from the last high mage. All he could say was that the affiliation is volatile—as we saw at the stronghold—and I need to learn control of it. But that once I do, it'll be powerful beyond all estimations."

Propping an elbow on the table, Hermione dropped her face into her hand. "Which explains why Cosette wants it."

"Cosette," he drawled, tone dripping with disdain, "can go to hell."

Snorting, Hermione glanced away. "Unfortunately, we need to deal with her in a more proactive manner than that." He gave her a sardonic grimace, and she added, "Hopefully this book contains something helpful. Hugo said Madeline would be here shortly."

Malfoy sighed, levelling her with a stare. "I'm not crazy about letting Madeline know anything more than what Hugo's already assuredly told her, especially after the other night. I'd like to keep this within the council… but if she's the only one who can help I suppose it's better than an outsider."

Recalling her conversation with Hugo earlier that day, Hermione said quietly, "The way Hugo speaks about her, she sounds lovely. Recreational proclivities aside."

Gazing thoughtfully at the table, he let out several long breaths before speaking; with bated breath, Hermione waited, sensing his hesitation. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "I am trusting your judgement in the situation as I have other business to attend to." He considered his words once more with a wince. "Something about Hugo's inconsistency bothers me. He claims he takes his role seriously, but he's late for council, he wants to throw parties… I can't figure out his angle. I need you to keep caution in your interactions with Madeline. Make sure you don't share too much about Cosette and the affiliation."

Thinking of the sincerity in Hugo's tone earlier, Hermione frowned. "He told me he would give his life to protect you—he _pulled_ you out of the collapse the other day."

"I know," Malfoy said quickly. "And maybe it's nothing. Just… keep an eye on him."

Something about his dismissal of Hugo's intentions rubbed her the wrong way, and she shook her head. "No, I think you're misreading him. He wants you to trust him; he told me he wants to earn your respect."

"Then he needs to do things worthy of it," he growled. "Granger, I don't want to argue about this—"

"Then quit it," she ground out.

His eyes flashed as he scowled, folding his arms across his chest. "You can _honestly_ tell me you trust him." His expression softened at her ire, and he said, "I don't mean to upset you—I just don't want him to take advantage of your trust. He strikes me as the sort that can pull strings to manipulate the situation to suit his own interests… and I can't allow that on the council."

"Luckily," she breathed, "we're both heads of the council. Equals, remember?"

"Granger," he groaned, "all I'm asking for is caution. Is that so much to ask?"

Releasing a long, rattling breath, Hermione pressed her eyes shut for a moment. When she blinked them open, the tension sank from her shoulders. "No. That isn't too much to ask. If you can try to give him a little benefit of the doubt."

Malfoy nodded, holding her gaze. "Okay. I can do that. Merlin, I can't have you angry at me on top of everything else."

The admission startled Hermione on many levels, and she softened, taking his hand into hers. "I'm sorry I got defensive. We need to be on the same side, now more than ever." With a sheepish grin, she added, "I guess it's habit."

Smirking, he dragged his thumb across the crescent marking on her wrist and whispered, "We'll just have to develop new habits."

"I think I like the sound of that," she teased, smiling. Energy raced through her at his touch, the bonding magic between them flaring to life, and she leaned in, his breath mingling with her own.

"Shit."

In an instant, Hermione recoiled to see the uncomfortable faces of Hugo and Madeline. Malfoy released her hand, turning to face them with a hint of irritation on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt," Hugo said, grimacing.

Madeline pressed her lips into a thin smile and said, "Hello, Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor. Thank you for this honour to help."

"Absolutely." Gesturing to the other side of the table, Hermione waited while they both settled in. When Malfoy remained seated at her side, she turned to him. "What time do you have to go?"

Leaning back in his seat, he flashed her a smile before turning his focus on the Italian book. "As it turns out, this is the most important thing I could be doing right now."

Hermione stomped her heel into the top of his foot beneath the table.

* * *

Yawning widely, Draco skimmed the stack of notes from Madeline's translation. The book from the Alba stronghold had been written in an older dialect, so certain things she had been unsure of, but the notes largely made sense. After the first few pages, they had enchanted a self-inking quill to write down her translation, but it still took well into the night and a large portion of the next day to get through the thick tome.

Having grown tired of the hard chairs in the library, once the translation was complete they had thanked Hugo and Madeline and retreated to the Lunae quarters.

Granger lounged at his side in bed, her nose buried deep in one of the other books she had seized from the stronghold that was written in English. Stretching her arms out widely, she asked, "Anything?"

Rubbing at bleary eyes, Draco said, "I don't even know what I should be looking for. All of it could be important, or it could be useless. It's a history of Alba, and there are mentions of Nocturnus—but what's notable?"

Frowning, she dropped her head onto her shoulder to read the page he was on. "I understand what you mean. It's like trying to find something we don't know we're looking for. Can you do a magical keyword search? Lunar affiliation, or Lunae Ortus, or something like that?"

"Yeah," Draco muttered, reaching for his wand, "yeah, that might make more sense."

Casting the spell, and waiting for it to detect instances of certain words, he set the translation aside and turned towards Granger. "Anything in that one?"

Stifling a yawn, she said, "Nothing yet."

"Maybe we need to call it a night," Draco said, frowning. "We aren't getting very far with any of this half asleep."

"Sleep sounds good," Granger admitted, marking her place in the book and setting it on the bedside table, before placing the translation atop. With a wave of her wand, the lights in the room blinked out. Turning towards him, she asked, "Do you think they know we're here? In Italy?"

He said emphatically, "I hope not." Hesitating for a long moment, he added, "But I wouldn't be surprised. Never mind the fact that I destroyed one of their fortresses… they clearly have eyes and ears everywhere. Our presence here, guarded as we are in this castle, can't have gone wholly unnoticed. I just don't know if it makes me more or less uneasy that we haven't heard from them."

The last hints of dusk fell into the sky beyond the open balcony, and Draco watched the moon on its slow ascent to culmination, feeling the comfort of its energy seep into his soul. It soothed some of the worries and the unease, and he pulled Granger into his arms, pressing his lips into her wild curls.

"I don't know what to think about any of this," she said quietly. "I don't know who to trust, what to believe… what path do we follow?"

"Unfortunately," he drawled, "we don't have any of those answers."

Expression lost, she gazed out into the night sky, the earliest stars dotting the darkness with their vibrant points of light. Tucking closer into his side, she wound an arm around his abdomen, resting her face on his chest. "The most ironic part of this entire situation is that the only person I feel safe with is you."

With a low snort, he muttered, "I'm going to take that as a good thing."

A gentle smile curled her lips as she looked up at him. "Take it however you like."

"Here's what I know, Granger." Releasing a long, shuddering sigh, he dropped his voice. "One day, you and I are going to pull through all of this. I don't know how yet or what it's going to cost us… but we will. And then we'll look at our lives—married, wealthy, with the ability to do _whatever_ we choose."

She drew in a tight breath against his chest, but he couldn't see her face.

"And… maybe one day you'll regret marrying me." He hesitated, falling silent for a moment. "I hope you don't—but let's face it. You might."

She gave a watery snicker.

"But if you don't…" Adjusting his hold on her, Draco felt a vague sort of tightness take hold in his chest. "Merlin, Granger, I'm going to show you the life you deserved to have—even though it would have been with someone other than me." Despair hung heavy on his heart, and for a moment, Draco couldn't remember how it felt to be happy and unconcerned with life.

Granger remained uncharacteristically silent, and he wondered whether his words had struck a chord—if she had perhaps already wondered what her life could have been like had she not chained herself to him.

Loosening his grip, he leaned back against the headboard. "I regret dragging you into all of this."

"Except," she whispered, with a sniffle, "you didn't." Extracting herself from his hold, she sat up alongside him, her eyes glassy. "I knew what I was getting myself into—well, not all of this, here. But a life with you. I bonded with you because it was what we needed to do… but Draco, I haven't needed to do all the rest of it."

Her face rolled along the headboard and the depth of fierce determination in her watery stare drew him in. "You didn't _drag_ me a single step of the way—and you aren't about to start."

The falling darkness of the room cast half of her in shadow, and a breath chased from his lungs.

"And you and I, Draco Malfoy," she breathed, "are going to put Alba and Avance and all the rest of them back in the hole they came from—because no one is going to underestimate us."

A chill crept down his spine at her words, and he drew her towards him, her lips crashing into his. Moisture broke from her eyes and against his cheeks as he kissed her with a sort of reverent desperation, his hands sweeping her sides and tugging her shirt over her head.

Panting, Granger shifted to straddle his lap, grinding down against him, her eyes full of something he wouldn't dare name. As her hands dropped to his trousers, she breathed against his mouth, "We're going to have that life. And anyone who tries to stand in our way…" Kissing him again and dragging her fingers along his cheekbones, she said in little more than an exhale, "They're going to be the ones who regret it."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope, so much, that you're all keeping safe and well. And I hope you're enjoying the story. Thanks for reading!

Alpha and beta hearts to my loves Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	22. Chapter 22

Groaning, Hermione swept her curls into a messy bun atop her head. Tapping her quill on the table, she muttered, "I thought this would at least be interesting."

Frowning, Draco clipped, "It isn't."

They had duplicated Madeline's translation of the Italian book they had found in the Alba fortress, but the content was drier than Hermione could have imagined—and she had enjoyed Professor Binns' class compared to the rest of her classmates. The book was essentially a history of Alba, but the author made it sound as if centuries of war and bloodshed were infinitely banal.

"We need to decide what we're doing next," Hermione said, setting her copy aside. "If there's more to be done in Italy, we ought to proceed. And if not… maybe we're best back in England for now. The longer we stay in Italy, the greater likelihood that Avance will discover we're here."

"If they haven't already," Malfoy grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. "I think our best option is to return home. The castle is as warded as it can possibly get, so we know it's here and safe if we need to return. Maybe it's time to check in and make sure everything is okay at home. We can continue studying this atrocious translation from anywhere."

Gazing at him, she shook her head. "I just wish there was _something _in here to go off of."

"Like a specific reason why Cosette has decided _now_ is the time to kill me and steal the lunar affiliation?" At her grimace, he sneered. "The only mention I've seen of the affiliation is in mentions of its destructive power. Considering Alba was constantly losing great swaths of their organization, they sure were persistent buggers, weren't they?"

"It reiterates the reasons for their hatred of the Nocturnus Order." Eyes sweeping the text again, she said, "We only know that Alba formed as a response to the Nocturnus Order's power. But for a written history, it doesn't even say very much about _why_ they were so opposed. You don't just form an entire magical order to oppose _another_ order without a good reason, especially if the original order is monstrously powerful."

Dropping his face into his hands, Malfoy released a long, strangled sort of sound. "This is rubbish. We're only coming out of this with more questions. _Why_ now? Why Cosette, and why lure me into this all using Arcand?"

Pensive, she stared at him, eyes tight. "Remember in that journal that discussed the consummation—it said the lunar affiliation has many uses beyond its destructive capabilities. Maybe Cosette knows something more about it."

"Glenneth doesn't even know," Malfoy deadpanned. "I suppose I need to work on it and see if we can learn anything else."

"Maybe this is ridiculous, given the way things are," Hermione said quietly, choosing her words with selective care, "but it sounds to me as if Nocturnus wasn't exactly innocent in all of this. They must have given Alba some reason to rise up against them with such aggression, and they certainly gave plenty of reasons to keep the feud going for so long."

Grimacing, Malfoy met her gaze. "I feel like the more we dig, the more we're going to learn—and most of it we won't like." Running a hand through his hair, he released a distraught huff. "And here we are, perpetuating it once again."

Hermione whispered, "We wanted to do good. And yet… Cosette isn't giving us an option for that."

"We can, and we will," he ground through clenched teeth. "But as it stands right _now_, Alba is getting in the way. We can shut down Avance and make people think twice about the prejudice we've seen in Arcand's policies in France…" He fell silent for another long moment, slowly shaking his head. "I feel like this is meant to divide us. Like we can't deal with both Avance and Alba at once. Like we're going to have to decide—do we go the path in France and work to improve life for the magical beings targeted by Arcand? Or do we chase what we've learned here in Italy…"

"Thereby continuing the brutal and bloody feud between Nocturnus and Alba," Hermione finished sadly, understanding his point. Gazing at the table where their translations sat, she said, "During the last days of the war, we came across some information and Harry felt forced to make a choice between two paths."

Expecting derision at her mention of Harry, she glanced his way, but Malfoy was staring at her intently, his stare leading.

She went on, releasing a quick breath. "We had been attempting to track down all of Voldemort's Horcruxes—inanimate objects inside which he had stored parts of his soul—but then when we learned of the Deathly Hallows and that Voldemort was going after the Elder Wand…"

"He had to make a decision," Malfoy surmised, frowning. "I can only imagine, based on your appearance at Hogwarts, how that went."

Humming in agreement, Hermione leaned back in her seat. "Realistically, though, it was too late to retrieve the Elder Wand. So Harry ultimately made his decision, his hand forced, and we kept on our original path."

She could practically see the cogs turning in his head, and he asked, quietly, "Do you think Potter wishes he had taken the offensive path? If it had still been an option. Or would he have carried on after the Horcruxes regardless."

"I think," she breathed, considering the question for a moment. "Harry learned a lot about power—and I don't think he ever truly believed anyone should have been in possession of all three of the Deathly Hallows. But he already had two, and I think I'd be lying if I said he didn't consider it."

"Potter had a vital mission he was keen on," Malfoy said, gesturing with a hand. "What he decided in that moment could have impacted not only Great Britain but the wizarding world as a whole. Life as we know it could look incredibly altered had the events of that day not played out as they did."

Softly, she asked, "Is this so different?"

* * *

Squinting into the late afternoon sun, Draco felt a churning in the pit of his stomach messing with his nerves, and he wondered if they had done the right thing as he gazed at Malfoy Manor.

It hadn't felt right to continue lingering in Italy without a valid path forward. Bergen had spent the previous day scouring for anything more they could find on Alba, but every avenue had come up short. After a brief meeting of the council members present in Tuscany, they had decided to return to England for the time being.

Draco preferred the warm Italian air to the rainy chill in Wiltshire and frowned as they ventured through the gates of the Manor.

Dismay lingered among those returning. Despite having spent several days in Italy, they had very little to show for their efforts—and in the attempt, they had lost one of their own.

Unconvinced that he hadn't accidentally triggered Alba's awareness of their presence, Draco felt a deep sense of unease even though they hadn't been given any reason to think so. Granger's fingers laced with his at his side, and he tugged her closer, drawing strength from her presence.

Nothing had changed with the situation. Avance was still wreaking chaos in France; Alba still breathed down their necks in Italy. The situation felt as if it were closing in on him from two opposing sides, and he was feeling the pressure.

But with regards to Granger… a soft smile danced across her lips when he planted a kiss to her temple. With Granger, he felt as if everything had changed.

When they arrived in their private wing, she ducked into her own living quarters, and Draco felt at a loss without her at his side. While in England, they largely kept to themselves—but in Italy, they had scarcely left one another's side.

He wondered whether the dynamic would shift, or whether there had simply been something in the Italian air.

Podski had already unpacked his bags when Draco walked into his bedroom, keen on a scalding shower to wash away the strain Italy had placed on his soul. Unable to decide whether the trip had been more beneficial or detrimental to their plans, he lingered for a long while beneath the hot spray until his skin was flushed with the heat.

Wrapping a towel around his hips and grabbing another to dry his hair, he wandered into his sitting room to collect Madeline's translation notes. Fatigue sat heavy in his bones, and he planned to scour the Alba history until his eyes couldn't stay open any longer.

But through the open door into Granger's sitting area, he could see her perched on the sofa, worrying her bottom lip with a heavy furrow in her brow as she stared at her own copy. She already wore her sleep clothes and looked about as tired as he felt.

Glancing up at his presence, her eyes swept slowly upwards along his frame, and a coy smile tugged at her lips. With a quick inhale, she said, "Good night."

He gazed at her for a long moment as he ran the towel through his hair and murmured, "Good night, Granger." Tossing the towel aside, he dropped his head into a significant tilt towards his bedroom.

Her chin lowered, and she held his gaze for a long moment before hopping to her feet and crossing the threshold into his quarters. As she made herself comfortable in his bed, Draco felt a smirk pull at his lips, and he breathed to himself, "_Well then_."

* * *

"Malfoy." Startled, Hermione froze in her spot, leaned back against his shoulder on the couch, her legs stretched before her. "There's something—page two hundred-eighty-three."

Silently, he flipped through the thick parchment of his own copy, and she waited with bated breath while he read the passage she had stumbled across. He read, "Gilberto was a great sorcerer and mage, and he developed the magic by which he could harness the power of the moon. Gilberto was slain, and it was _seized_—ah fuck, Granger—by a thief who took the magic for his own. The thief did declare himself Lunae Ortus and created a magical order which he could use to protect the power of the moon."

Hermione kept her gaze fixed on the page, blowing out a stuttering breath. "The first Lunae Ortus stole the lunar affiliation from another?"

"It explains why Alba has been hellbent on destroying the Nocturnus Order for so long," Malfoy said, his tone dark. "But the affiliation has been strengthened over the years by Nocturnus mages and passed on through the Ascension for centuries. It probably isn't even recognisable as the same magic anymore."

"Blood feuds have blown up over less."

"You're right," he said, leaning forward in his seat; Hermione shifted to sit alongside him, her gaze flickering to him sidelong. "So Alba wants vengeance for the stolen lunar powers, and Cosette has decided now is the time to reclaim what they believe to be rightfully theirs."

A chill crept down her spine. "Do they have any claim to the affiliation? Legally or magically, however any of that works?"

"It's hazy subject matter," he said, browsing down to the next paragraph. "I'd have to speak with the mage to be certain, but regardless of what Alba claimed was theirs from centuries ago, the affiliation has been the defining feature of the Lunae Ortus—_obviously_—since the Nocturnus Order originated."

"And then there's the most pressing detail," Hermione whispered, "being that Cosette believes she can kill you and take it back."

His lip curled, as it often did, at the mention of Cosette's intentions. "Let's also keep in mind," he mused, "that this is written in an _Alba_ history book. Even if this feud goes back to the very start of Nocturnus, surely there is a certain level of bias here. If you read the same passage written in a history of the Nocturnus Order, I can promise you they would claim Alba to be at fault."

"I'm sure you're right," she said, idly jotting on a sheet of parchment. "But the most important element here is that Cosette believes _this_ sequence of events. For all we know, the first Lunae Ortus was the one to develop the affiliation, Alba stole it, and the Lunae reclaimed it and developed the Nocturnus Order to protect it." When he chuckled, she merely shrugged. "History is often convoluted without context."

"History is written by the victors," he quoted, leaning into her side. "But in this case… Merlin, there has been crazy bloodshed on both sides. Betrayal on both sides… I don't know that there are any victors here. Nocturnus chose to fade into obscurity rather than risk the affiliation being taken."

"And Alba has never let up," she marvelled, shaking her head. "It's all ridiculous, quite frankly. What if we were to _talk_ to Cosette—"

Malfoy cut her off with a bark of laughter. "Have you been reading the same journals I have? I don't think there's ever been a civilised conversation between the leaders of these two organizations."

Unwilling to let the idea drop so easily, Hermione hummed, flipping the pages back. "It's the twenty-first century now. Do you honestly think Cosette wants to take Alba into war?"

"I think," he said delicately, "Cosette has been quite forward in drawing me out for her own purposes. There's only one affiliation, and she clearly wants it."

"Okay, but just say there's a chance—"

She was interrupted by a loud rap at the door that led into the corridor. As they shared a look, Hermione felt trepidation settle into her nerves. The last time anyone had visited them in their quarters had been when they had received a letter threatening her life prior to the bonding ceremony.

A stone-faced contingent of three guards stood at the door when Malfoy swung it open. Standing at his side, she tensed when even Ben, one of the friendliest of the Nocturnus guard, regarded the pair of them with a grimace.

"Lunae Ortus—Lunae Amor. There is something you need to see immediately."

Dread filled the pit of Hermione's stomach, and Malfoy's hand instantly caught hers as he nodded. "Lead the way."

"We've only just noticed it, Lunae," Ben said as the guards flanked them, wands drawn. "But the last patrol passed that way six hours ago."

Malfoy's hand squeezed hers tightly, and Hermione could see the hard set of his jaw. The group remained silent as they ventured out onto the grounds towards the front of the Manor.

Hermione could hear water as they approached the great fountain, but it lacked the cohesive flow it usually had. A breath chased from her lungs as her heart dropped simultaneously in her stomach.

One of the guards announced in a thick Eastern European accent, "We don't know what it means, Lunae."

A massive chunk of broken stone, rough and jagged around the edges, crushed one side of the fountain, as if it had been dropped from a great height. Water sprayed haphazardly from the fountain in all directions, creating a disjointed ambient noise.

Malfoy's expression hardened, his eyes narrow as he released her and stalked towards the broken stone. With a wave of his hand, the water ceased, falling silent. Hermione could barely draw breath as she stared, transfixed, her heart pounding desperately in her chest. As she rounded the side where the stone formed a square edge, a sharp inhale caught in her throat.

Drawn faintly, in a rough hand, was an image of the sun rising over the horizon. The symbol on the book that contained the history of Alba—the same emblem that had been stitched into the sheath of the sword Hugo had found. Implicitly, she felt as if the stone must have been from the collapse at the Alba stronghold.

His words quiet and quaking with barely contained ire, Malfoy drawled, "I know exactly what it means. It's a message."

Fear coursed through Hermione as she stared at his back, the guards at a loss to her sides. Moisture stung at her eyes, hot and insistent, but something stayed her approach.

Clenching his hand into a fist at his side, Malfoy splayed his fingers wide. With an anguished cry, he twisted his wrist upwards.

A ball of pure white power chased from his palm with ferocious speed, and before Hermione could even comprehend what he had done, the power collided with the broken chunk of stone. Within seconds, the stone vanished, and through a thick haze of rubble and smoke, Hermione could see it was gone, its remains decimated to nothing more than a pile of dust.

The fountain, while broken, stood untouched.

Eyes wide, Hermione stared at the heavy lift and fall of his shoulders, his head downcast. Then without a word, he paced off into the grounds.

When the guards regained their senses and made to take off after him, Hermione held up a hand. Despair wrenching at her heart, she breathed, "Let him go."

* * *

Fury and desperation coursed as one through Draco's bloodstream, and he couldn't blink without seeing red. He had called an emergency meeting of the Nocturnus council upon returning to the Manor, and he couldn't stand to look at Granger for the fear in her eyes.

Fear of _him_.

The thought that Alba had come to England—had invaded his _home_.

His mother lived here. His wife. His entire council and the guards, the mages, and the healers of the Nocturnus Order. He felt a personal responsibility for each and every person who resided in the Manor, and to know that Alba had invaded that safety set his hackles on edge even as if left him feeling vulnerable and helpless.

The message was loud and clear: they attacked Alba in Italy—and Alba had brought the fight back to them.

The implications were so far reaching as to feel boundless. Not only did Alba know of their interest, but they also knew of the ruined stronghold. They had most certainly seen it as an act of war—of a continuation of the long and bloody feud between Alba and the Nocturnus Order.

The wards on Malfoy Manor were as comprehensive as possible. And after becoming the base of the Nocturnus Order, Glenneth had reinforced them beyond anything Draco could have imagined. But still, Alba had made it onto the grounds and destroyed their fountain. Rage churned in Draco's stomach.

They could have attacked him or Granger; they could have done any manner of things.

But they had left all of it untouched but for the fountain. A cruel, mocking point that they had more power in the situation than he even realised—that they could come and go as they pleased.

It meant Malfoy Manor wasn't safe—it meant _anywhere_ they went wasn't safe.

All around him, the council discussed potential options, the repercussions of the fallout at the Alba stronghold, and the possible paths now that their knowledge of Alba had been revealed. But Draco couldn't hear a word of it.

Granger sat silently at his side, her chin held high and her eyes red and glossy. Draco didn't even have it in him to offer her comfort in that moment; he didn't have any to give.

Because all of it was his fault.

He had put every one of their lives at risk through his Ascension—through painting a target on the backs of every man, woman, and child of the Nocturnus Order. Through being unable to control the lunar affiliation, fresh and strengthened—he had been the cause of the Alba stronghold crumbling to dust.

Breathing heavily, his fingers curled into a fist.

Bergen spoke, but the words fell muffled on Draco's ears. Twisting his mouth to the side, he stared at his council—at the team who had been so proud to help him bring the Order together again at last. He had failed each and every one of them. But mostly, he had failed Granger, who deserved better than another war.

"What do you think we should do, Lunae?" Bergen asked, turning towards him with expectation. They all turned to stare at him with expectation, except for Granger.

He had frightened her when he had released the affiliation upon the stone from the fortress—but he hadn't known how else to direct his pain and fury.

With a shuddering breath, he choked, "I don't know." Staring around at all of them, waiting for his determination, for his decision, he managed only, "I don't know what to do about any of this anymore."

Granger's fingers grazed his beneath the table, and he clung to her hand like a lifeline.

"I think," she announced, and the collective eyes of the council landed on hers, hurting and uncertain. "We have to proceed with the only option we presently have available to us. Alba has presented us with a deliberate call to war—we must act to defend ourselves and our people. We must do right by those who look to us."

"Lunae Amor," Dagomir exclaimed, his expression wrought with anguish, "are you suggesting we go to war?"

"I am suggesting," she said, her tone devoid of emotion, "we act to stay ahead. We cannot let Alba come after us and find us off our guard. At the very least, we must be prepared."

Bergen gave a short nod. "Very well. We will prepare for the almost certain eventuality."

Sweeping a hand through his hair, Draco pulled all remaining shreds of sense together and said, "Very well. However it looks, we will act to defend the Nocturnus Order—as this council has always done."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hi everyone. Thanks as always for reading, and I sincerely hope you're enjoying the story. I'm so appreciative of your feedback and kind words, but a special shout-out to the silent readers who are managing to hold it together right now. I'm honoured you're along with me for this journey in these challenging times. I hope you're all well, and thank you to those who have reached out to me with wishes of health and safety! Things are okay here right now, and my province has begun to slowly re-open.

Alpha and beta hugs to my wonderful friends Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	23. Chapter 23

A whirlwind of emotion churned deep in the core of Hermione's being as she stared out of the window in Draco's sitting room, gazing down upon the grounds of Malfoy Manor below.

Much like in preparation for the bonding ceremony, the vast lawn was dotted with white tents—only instead of the merriment and revelry of the bonding, the atmosphere was tense and austere. Banners bearing house crests were jammed into the earth beside each tent, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't tear her gaze away as more people continued to arrive via Portkey every so often.

Not five years ago, Great Britain had been rocked by war.

And while Dagomir proclaimed the presence of the banners was a precaution and a contingency, she felt the same anxious churning in her gut as she had when Lord Voldemort was at the peak of his power.

Malfoy had stepped out to meet with Dagomir regarding arrangements for the banner houses whilst on the estate grounds, and Hermione had opted to stay behind, her mind whirring in an attempt to process everything.

Since returning to England, their living arrangements had been decidedly _vague_.

While they hadn't discussed the shift since Italy, they hadn't spent a night apart since returning home, and Hermione was coming to rely on his soothing presence at her side. Her magic reached for him when they weren't together, and, every so often, the crescent marking on her wrist tingled, pushing her to seek him out.

She wasn't entirely certain of the depth of the magic at play between them, but it was evident she had truly begun to accept his role in her life—and she wasn't bothered over it as much as she might have expected at first.

They were in all of this together, and he was the only person who fully understood everything that had been weighing so heavily on her heart.

Startled, she jumped away from the window when the fireplace in Malfoy's quarters flared to life. Theodore Nott stepped through the green flames, brushing ash and soot from his shirt, and moments later, Blaise Zabini followed through. The pair stared at her, hesitant, before she offered them a smile.

"Draco isn't here just now," she said by way of greeting, waving a hand towards the couch. "You're welcome to wait for him if you like." It occurred to her that it might appear strange for her to be in his quarters while he wasn't there, and she added, "He shouldn't be too much longer."

Nott dropped into a seat on the couch and announced, "He's asked us here."

With a furtive glance, Zabini strode forward and poured two glasses of whisky from Malfoy's decanter—and after a moment's hesitation, he poured one for her as well and asked, "What's outside?" Meandering towards the window where she had been watching, he choked on a sip of whisky when she accepted the extra tumbler. "Why does it look like you're preparing for war?"

Unable to find the words to answer, Hermione remained silent, gazing down on the grounds once more.

"It is a contingent," Malfoy announced crisply as he strode into the room and, without any consideration, poured himself a glass of the amber liquid. With a thin press of his lips, he added, "And that's all either of you need to know… for now."

At his last words, Hermione sought out his stare, but the grey behind his eyes was unreadable as he leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Nott blew out a low whistle. "I don't envy you."

"Sounds like you're busy," Zabini quipped, "so why are we here?"

"Because," Malfoy said, entwining his fingers with hers and tugging her towards the sofa, "I needed a drink with my mates." From her spot at his side, Hermione could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and she wondered whether she looked much better.

Several times the night before, she had been stirred awake by his tossing, and each time, he hadn't been sleeping. Idly, she thought he had been doing worse than he had let on with her. A chilly air emanated from him at her side while he took deep swigs of his whisky, and within minutes, he rose to refill another generous portion.

"So," Nott ventured, "you aren't going to tell us about the great mass of fighters gathered on the back lawn, then?"

His hand tightened around hers in a squeeze, and he bit out, "Nope," with a heavy emphasis on the 'p'. "Technically I can't—but it's for your own good not to know more than necessary."

Shifting in her seat, Hermione watched as Zabini and Nott exchanged a glance. Then Zabini shook his head. "That's not good enough. We aren't going to sit by why you drive yourself into the ground again—that was a lesson learned years ago."

For a moment, she thought Malfoy was going to grow angry, but he only leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his eyes as he released a heavy sigh. "An old enemy of Nocturnus is on our case—and it turns out they're more powerful than we realised."

"The situation in France?" Nott asked, leaning forward.

When Malfoy remained silent, brooding into his drink, Hermione interjected, "Not exactly. It's related but separate. The banners really are a contingent though."

Finally Zabini forced an uncomfortable nod. "Fine. But if you go to war—don't you dare forget to mention it."

Grimacing, Malfoy responded with a quiet, "Noted." Then he lifted his glass and murmured, "To the people who stand by us."

Tightening her hold on his other hand, Hermione was the first to clink her glass with his; a wry smile pulled at his lips when his stare found hers.

* * *

Once Blaise and Theo had left through the Floo, Draco gave a squeeze to Granger's arm and ventured up to the roof. The moon was high in a cloudless sky and called to everything instinctive within him.

Despite having his friends over, he hadn't been able to release the heavy burdens from his heart long enough to indulge, and he had spent most of the evening nursing his second drink quietly at Granger's side while she did her best to be social for both of them. But he could see the strain around her eyes as well and needed to escape from it all.

In the dark of night, he could almost pretend he didn't see the array of white tents on the grounds below, as if they didn't span further than he could see. Glassy moisture stung at his eyes as he bent his knees before him, propping his heels into the gentle slope of the roof.

He didn't want to go to war.

It was the singular thought that had been chasing through his mind over and again ever since the council had called for the possibility of such a thing, and Draco was beginning to suspect the constant clenching around his heart would never go away.

He'd hoped his Ascension would be enough to deter Avance and prevent war from reaching Great Britain once more. But through his actions, he had allowed for the possibility of war in his own home. The irony was bitter and difficult to accept.

One other thought sat heavy on his mind, and he hadn't brought it up, not even with Granger.

Draco didn't want to wind up in a position where he needed to kill. It all felt horribly reminiscent of his experiences during his sixth and seventh years, when the possibility had been real and direct, and it had been a decision he didn't know how to make at the time.

And now, with more power—more responsibility and the lives of thousands hanging in the balance—it felt insurmountable.

The lunar affiliation had the power to wipe a person from the face of the earth. Even if he hadn't read it in the Nocturnus journals, he would have known by the feel of the raw magic emanating beneath the tips of his fingers. Even if he hadn't vaporised the chunk of stone from the Alba stronghold into nothing more than dust.

It was too much—more than he could handle—and yet… it wasn't enough.

Uncertainty pulsed through him, his heart pounding aggressively in his chest. War was war—and if it meant defending his people, his mother, his wife, and the council…

Staring at his hand where the white magic of the affiliation glowed in an effort to break free with the moon so visible, Draco somehow knew he would simply do whatever he had to. He had created the problem with his Ascension, and it was on him to clean it up. It was the only thing Granger couldn't understand—he wouldn't burden her with such a thing anyways.

She had been everything he had hoped for in a Lunae Amor; it was almost startling how well they got on and how in tune they had become with one another. The veins of his palm lit from within, and with a heavy exhale, he allowed the magic to drift free.

Draco liked to think it was something else—something beyond the Lunae bonds pushing them together. It was connection and empathy, and maybe there was something beyond any of that. Something stronger, but yet infinitely more human. He cared about her—and the thought of losing her was more than he could handle. Not when he had dragged her into the entire mess.

Quiet steps came from the spiral staircase, and without hesitation, Draco drew her into his arms when she took the seat beside him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and planting a kiss into her curls.

Hoarsely, she asked, "Are you okay?" He didn't want to lie to her and remained silent; idly he wondered whether she had been crying, but he couldn't see her eyes. She traced the veins of his palm, and she drew the affiliation onto her fingertips like shimmering dust.

Watching as she rubbed her fingers together and the lunar magic expanded along the curves of her hand and wrist, he released a sigh. Voice low, he asked, "Are we doing the right thing?"

Granger was silent for a long moment as she coiled the magic into a small ball, holding it between her fingers. Finally she said, "I don't know." After another long, drawn out moment, she added, "I don't think there is a right thing at this point. There is only what we need to do. And what we need to do is to protect the people of the Order who look to us. It hasn't made it easier to accept that we face war, only… it makes it a bit more clinical."

Blowing out a breath, he nodded. "Clinical."

"Don't misunderstand me," she whispered, a breath hitching. "I am _devastated_." Her voice broke on the word, and she swiped a tear from her cheek, staring out into the darkness of the night sky. "But the only alternative is that we stand by, unprepared, and that isn't any alternative at all."

"You're right," Draco breathed, feeling something loosen in his chest at the admission. "It isn't what we want, but then, no one wants war."

Casual curiosity swelled within him, and he handed Granger a hovering ball of magic; without thinking she accepted it, taking it between her hands and manipulating it distractedly. She said, "No. No one does. But all those people down there… the banners that have yet to arrive… Draco, they're here to support you. They're here because they believe in your rule and they believe in Nocturnus. If they didn't, they wouldn't have come. When you Ascended, when we were bonded… now, in the face of war."

"They've sworn oaths," he grumbled, refusing to look at the grounds below.

Shaking her head, she only echoed, "They wouldn't have come."

Glancing her way, he met her chocolate stare for the first time. "Their faith is misplaced—maybe not in you, but in me. I'm no leader."

"But yet," she whispered, a light-hearted flippancy in her words, "you're leading an Order of thousands. And they have faith in you."

"_We_ are," Draco corrected, reaching for her hand but stopping himself with a gruff, "Granger."

Startled, she looked down, lifting her hand to peer closer. The magic had absorbed into her skin, leaving it with a delicate glow. Sucking in a rattling breath, she experimentally opened her hand, and the magic seeped forth once more from her skin, hovering again as an orb of light.

He had never seen her possess any real control over the affiliation, and when she pushed it forward to hover in the air between them, a wry grin cracked his features.

But she only stared at it, drawing it one way and back with her hands, and whispered, "What else can you do?" She left it to hang, illuminating the space above her, and she cast him a soft, secretive smile. "Maybe it's about time we learn everything there is to know about this magic."

The orb danced forward, sparkling with the light of the moon, and pressed against the wards Draco had established on the roof to prevent him from falling to his death in case he ever slipped.

But Granger's eyes narrowed with focus, and the orb spread out along the invisible wall of the wards, before breaking through. Surprised, Draco reached a hand forward to realise the wards were gone. He whispered, "Spell-breaking."

Contemplative, she said, "Cast a glamour or something."

Hesitating for a moment, Draco cast a spell to turn his own hair dark. Snickering, Granger glanced at him for a moment, her lips twisted to the side, before she shook her head. "It doesn't suit you." Then refocusing on the magic, she drew it back towards him.

Only in knowing she couldn't hurt him did he not wince when the magic of the affiliation passed through him; in an instant, he felt his own magic wrenched from him, and his hair was blond once more.

Staring at the silver orb, Granger mused, "Spell-breaking indeed." Then with a great sigh, she shifted closer towards his side, allowing the ball of light to hover alongside her. "I don't know the best path here. If we can find a way to avoid war, we will. But our options feel so limited, and we simply can't leave our people undefended."

Melancholy unfurled in his chest once more as he offered a slow nod. "You're right, we can't. But that's all I know. I don't know how we're going to face this down, or how we can make it through."

"I don't either," Granger admitted, wringing her hands. "But it isn't anything we can solve tonight."

There was a familiar sparkle in her eye when he glanced her way, and she leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. Biting down on her bottom lip when she drew back, she whispered, "I'm going to get ready for bed. Good night."

A smirk curled his lips and he replied, "Good night, Granger."

Watching as she descended from the roof, her ball of light following along in her wake, Draco hopped to his feet and chased her down the stairs. Catching her on the threshold between the balcony and the bedroom, he drew her into his arms, pressing her back into the wall as he ducked in, kissing her. He could feel the smile on her lips as her arms coiled around his neck, her soft curves melding into the lines of his chest, and his heart jolted to life when her tongue teased his.

They had been together a handful of times since consummating the Lunae bonds in Italy, and while her touch was both a comfort and a thrill, he would be lying to himself if he said it was nothing more than physical gratification, despite that they hadn't discussed the situation at any length. All she had mentioned was that the Nocturnus healers had provided her with a potion to prevent procreation until they were ready.

It was strange, to be married to someone and not know entirely where they stood with one another. But something felt different when he yanked her shirt over her head without preamble, nearly stumbling over her feet as she dragged him towards the bed.

Granger released a bright laugh when he pushed her down into the mattress, tugging her jeans from her legs as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt before pushing the fabric from his shoulders, her lips scarcely breaking from his own. Rolling to straddle him, she made quick work of his belt and trousers, her eyes sparkling as she planted her hands on his shoulders while he kicked the trousers free of his legs, wrenching his socks off.

Staring down at him, she swallowed when he reached up to release the clasp of her bra, taking her breasts in his hands before turning her once more so he could lave her throat and collarbone with kisses, one hand reaching beneath the waistband of her knickers to find her wet and ready for him. Groaning into her neck, he slipped two fingers between her folds to collect the moisture there, dragging his thumb in slow circles across her clitoris and basking in the soft sounds she released beside his ear.

Distractedly, she tugged at his pants, taking hold of his straining cock between her fingers, and chest heaving, he pulled his shorts the rest of the way free before divesting her fully of her knickers.

Without hesitation she kissed him again, dragging his bottom lip between her teeth as she positioned him at her entrance. With a muffled curse against her lips, he drove into her, eyelids fluttering at the feel of her walls tight around him.

Tasting each of her quick breaths and coveting her moans, Draco pushed into her, stealing kisses as the magic between them coursed, celebratory, in his veins. Granger's fingernails dragged down his back as she arched into him, breathing his name as she chased her release.

She broke with a cry, seeking his lips as she rode out her orgasm, and with a few more thrusts Draco's vision darkened with his own as he emptied into her, stilling with a quiet groan. Only their erratic breathing filled the darkness of the room until he drew out from within her, collapsing alongside and drawing her close with a kiss to her temple.

Her eyes fluttered open to find his, and she cast a cleaning spell on each of them before drawing the covers over them both. A demure hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she leaned in to plant a final kiss on his lips before she drifted to sleep in his hold.

For a long while, Draco watched her face soften in rest, his mind churning with thoughts until the fatigue grew too great and he succumbed to the blessed darkness of sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading! I'm so happy to have people along for this ride. I'm always thrilled to read your theories so feel free to share what you think. I hope you're all still keeping well.

Mega-hugs to my alphas Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and my beta ravenslight.


	24. Chapter 24

**Content Warning: **This chapter contains references to magical torture and a non-graphic death that may be potentially disturbing to some readers. Please find a more thorough description at the end of the chapter if you are someone who has triggers.

* * *

Jolting awake, the first thing Draco noticed was a faceful of tousled curls. Granger's lithe, fully nude body was pressed back against him and trapped in his arms; a smile tugged at his lips as he grazed a hand along her side, allowing his eyes to fall shut once more. His body was painfully aware of her when she stretched out, her arse shifting backwards into him, and a groan escaped his lips.

Her head rolled towards him, a sleepy smile on her face as she murmured, "Good morning."

"An excellent morning," he returned, ducking in to capture her earlobe between his teeth before trailing a line of kisses along her jaw towards her mouth.

A sharp rap came from the sitting quarters beyond. Draco's eyes snapped open, and his upper lip curled with disdain. Not in a rush to rise from bed, especially with Granger so pliant and receptive, he called, "What is it?"

She released a soft giggle, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Vaguely, through the door of his sitting quarters into the corridor, a voice said, "I apologise sir—there is an important matter at hand. The Chief Adviser claims it is urgent."

Huffing an exaggerated exhale, Draco rolled to face the ceiling and shouted back, "Very well!"

"Such is life." Granger snickered at his side, a smile stretching across her lips. "We'll have to pick _that _back up later."

Smirking, he grabbed her and rolled her over so he could hover above her, meeting the mischief in her eyes. Ghosting his lips across her cheekbone, he said softly, "Bergen can wait ten minutes."

"Only ten," she teased, eyes sparkling as she grabbed hold of his burgeoning hardness. "It's a long walk."

A slow grin cracked across his face, and he ducked in, pressing his lips hard into hers, and muttered, "_Fifteen_."

* * *

Hermione cast Malfoy a sidelong glance as they arrived at the strategy room; his hair was disheveled and his tie askew, but his eyes sparkled with trouble when they met hers.

Bergen was already waiting for them, however, and Malfoy's expression fell stoic as he slipped into his seat at the council table; curious, Hermione followed suit. Looking around, he asked, "What is so urgent? Have you summoned the rest of the council?"

"I have not," Bergen announced, folding his hands on the table. "I have word from the guards monitoring the situation that there is some… unrest with some of the banner carriers. Most specifically, the ones who hail from France."

Malfoy grimaced, carding a hand through his hair. "I wondered whether that would be an issue."

"They claim Nocturnus involvement in France has made everyday matters difficult for them," Bergen said, shaking his head as if the situation were ridiculous. "That the French Minister has targeted them with extreme levels of prejudice—elevated taxes, bureaucratic hoops simply to access their vaults, among others."

Frowning, Hermione stared between them. "What can we do about this? Presumably their lives are being made more difficult due to our opposition of Avance's policy shifts."

"But they're Nocturnus," Malfoy broke in, a stern furrow in his brow. "Are they not in support of our actions?"

Bergen released a long exhale through his nose. "They are—or so they claim. But they also don't care for the disruption of their daily lives." Darkly, he added, "I would simply remind them of their sworn oaths, but many of them have been vocal with the guards, and the Nocturnus guard is not trained in matters of internal strife and diplomacy—they are at a banners insist on speaking directly with their Lunaes."

"Of course." With a resigned lift of his brows, Malfoy said, "Fine. We will speak with anyone who wishes to come forward."

Shaking her head, Hermione turned towards him. "Of course—we can listen to their struggles, and there may even be something we can do to help. But how?"

Looking irritable over the entire situation, Bergen said, "Shall we set a time, Lunae?"

Rubbing at bleary eyes, Malfoy waved a dismissive hand. "Tell them three o'clock." Turning towards Hermione with a sort of forced smile, he said, "It looks like we'll be holding court this afternoon."

* * *

Despite his best efforts to focus on the situation at hand, Draco could scarcely drag his eyes away from Granger.

Dressed in her finest Nocturnus robes and exquisite silver coronet, she looked the part better than he ever could have imagined. Seated upon her throne at his side, her lips curved with a hint of a smile when she looked his way, and something clenched tightly in his chest.

The line of disgruntled French banner carriers did little to dampen his spirits—until they began steadily approaching the dais, loudly making their demands known. Pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, Draco glanced towards Dagomir; within moments, the guards dispersed, keeping the mob at bay.

Frowning, Granger stared at the group with consternation, her face hesitant when she looked his way.

Propping an elbow on the arm of his throne, Draco drawled, "Kindly approach in an orderly fashion." A tall man with a thin moustache approached the dais first, dropping his head into a bow. Observing the crest on his robes, Draco nodded. "Fournier. What is your issue?"

"C'est ma boulangerie," Fournier began, and corrected himself with a thick French accent. "My bakery. Four times already this month, Ministry officials have come to inspect my wares. I have received a Ministry summons for the cleanliness of my practices, and many of my customers have gone to the competitor—when everything was fine just three months ago."

Startled, Draco was suddenly reminded of their own summons by the British Ministry that they had, for all intents and purposes, ignored.

Sighing, he nodded slowly. "I see the problem."

Granger leaned forward in her seat; the man warily glanced between the two of them, but she offered a thin smile and said, "We will see what can be done about the negative attention Nocturnus members are receiving from the French Ministry. Whatever can be done, we will see to it." After a brief pause, and with a wider smile, she said to the gathered crowd, "I don't know that we quite realised the extent of it. Are many of you here with similar grievances?"

A general murmur of assent rumbled through the room, and she clapped her hands together. Eyeing her sidelong, Draco decided she was better with the politics than he was and remained silent.

From near the door, he caught Elias Bergen's eye, and the man offered a barely visible nod.

Waving a hand, her expression warm and trusting, Granger went on. "Those of you who have come to alert us of similar issues to Monsieur Fournier—you may retreat to the grounds for now."

A handful of relieved banner carriers turned and walked from the throne room; those who remained were stony faced, and Granger lifted a brow in his direction, her countenance deflated slightly.

Straightening in his seat, Draco surveyed those who remained. "Who's next?"

After an hour of listening to problems put forth, largely by French banner carriers, although a few were from Italy—which rattled around in the back of Draco's skull—he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on.

Despite most of the grievances being small and petty, Granger remained attentive; between the two of them, they offered the best solutions they could, and Draco hoped Bergen was keeping track of it all. Even though they had spoken with most of the people in court, the crowd wasn't diminishing any.

Finally, Draco peered through the mass, relieved to see no one else approaching. Pressing his lips into a smile, he spoke. "Thank you all for coming today. We've received great insight on some of the issues plaguing you all, and we can move forward with—"

His words were cut off as, from somewhere within the crowd of people, a woman's voice cried out in accented English. "Nocturnus shall crumble to dust! Like the sun, Avance will rise!"

Several things happened in an instant; Draco reached for his wand on instinct, despite that his fingers tingled with the affiliation, pushing forward with his adrenaline.

Making to rise to his feet, he was shoved back as Dagomir leapt onto the dais, a pair of guards on either side with wands aloft; chaos swept the room as guards surged into the tightly-packed crowd.

Catching his eye, Granger hissed, "Shit!"

The implications shook Draco to his core as he stared at her, heart thumping aggressively in his chest. He whispered, "Avance is here?"

"On the grounds," she breathed, shaking her head as she huffed with impatience and made to rise to her feet, peering around the guard nearest her. Following, Draco almost instantly collided with an invisible shield charm Dagomir must have erected around them, but he could see a pair of guards drag a thin, middle-aged woman from the room.

Eyes narrowing, Draco scowled as her head spun and her stare locked on his in the instant before the guards hauled her away. Quietly to Dagomir, he asked, "Where will they take her?"

"They will await your orders, Lunae," Dagomir returned as he turned his head to the side, his gaze still fixed on the crowd. "We will have to sweep the rest—no one will leave until we are certain all who remain are Nocturnus."

"How did she get onto the grounds?" Granger hissed, her wand clenched within white knuckles.

Dagomir's lip curled with disdain and the guards shifted uneasily. "We do not know, Lunae Amor—but we will find out."

Glaring at the door through which the woman had been dragged unceremoniously, Draco adjusted his tie and snapped, "Question her. Find out anything and _everything_ she knows."

He couldn't steady the racing of his heart when Granger's cautious stare found his.

* * *

Several hours after the altercation in the throne room, a pair of guards knocked on the door to their joint living quarters, and Hermione huffed a sigh of relief. Malfoy had been wearing an aggressive path into the carpet ever since Dagomir himself had escorted them from the throne room.

Ben blinked down at the pair of them; Vlad shifted at his side. Hermione could have felt the tension radiating from Malfoy even if she hadn't been able to see it in the set of his jaw. Ben announced, "We are to retrieve you as per the Head of the Guard."

"Good," Malfoy said crisply as he stalked across the threshold, glancing back at her as she followed. "What have they learned?"

"Every person remaining in the throne room was Nocturnus, Lunae," Ben said with a stiff nod. "All of their identities lined up to a Nocturnus house—but the woman we have taken into questioning was _not_."

"Not Nocturnus," Hermione said with a grimace as they walked, "but then how did she get onto the grounds?"

"We do not yet know," Vlad ground out, a heavy furrow in his brow. "She has not admitted to anything, but she is here alone."

"Here alone," Malfoy grumbled, "but not acting alone."

The four of them exchanged a glance, and Vlad scowled. "Not as far as we can tell, Lunae." The two guards exchanged a brief look, and he added, "The woman claims she will speak to you."

Surprise chased through Hermione, and she took Malfoy's hand into hers; his palm was clammy but he interlaced his fingers with hers, running his other hand through his already disheveled hair. "Damn right she will," he growled."No bloody Avance comes into my house." The grey in his eyes flashed dark as they met hers. "We _need_ to find out how Avance is getting through the wards."

"The high mage and Head of the Guard are redoubling the efforts with the wards as we speak," Ben announced, his expression stoic as they rounded into the Nocturnus Wing.

Shaking her head, Hermione felt nauseous to her core. "To what effect? We thought the wards were as strong as they possibly could have been already. And now twice, Avance has breached them."

"Tell Dagomir we'll have to enact the blood rites," Malfoy grumbled, frowning.

It sounded dire—but so was the situation. Hermione only stared at him as the guards responded in the affirmative. "Dagomir is surprised the wards were breached," Vlad contributed, his brows high on his forehead. "And angry."

Ben offered a dry chuckle. "You don't want Dagomir angry."

Snickering despite the situation, Malfoy added, "_If_ you're Avance."

Lips twitching, Ben extended an arm. "The woman is in here, Lunae. The rest of the Nocturnus in the throne room—shall they return to the grounds?"

"Yes, that's fine," Malfoy said with a distracted wave. Nodding sharply, Vlad made for the throne room. Glancing at Hermione, Malfoy reached for the door and held it open for her. Gratitude and appreciation raced through her at the thought that he didn't even try to persuade her from joining him in questioning the Avance woman.

The chamber appeared to be some sort of interrogation room, and she realised she'd never ventured inside. Idly, Hermione wondered what else existed in the Nocturnus wing she'd not had reason to explore.

Guards stood on either side of the door, and two more in the opposite corners. The woman was seated at a small table, magical vines tethering her hands and feet to the table. Dark eyes hooded, she gazed at the pair of them as they ventured into the room; her lip curled with a sneer.

"The famous Lunae Ortus and his Lunae Amor," the woman snipped in a disdainful French accent. "You do not look so special to me."

Malfoy simply squared his shoulders, rolling out his neck. The hatred in his face seared even Hermione as he stepped forward, staring at the woman. When he spoke, his voice was cold venom. "I highly suggest you tell us why you're here."

The woman's eyes met Hermione's, amusement flickering across her face. "I will not," she drawled, leaning back in her seat. "I am here only to share with you a message."

Ignoring her, Malfoy seethed, "How did you breach the wards?"

A flicker of something that might have been uncertainty crossed the woman's face, but within moments she schooled her expression once more. Briefly, Hermione caught Malfoy's gaze.

But the woman only folded her arms and responded, "I will not answer these questions."

"You are aware…" Trailing off, he allowed a smirk to come to his lips. "That you've invaded my property, and not only is this my land, but it is the land of a sovereign entity. You are at the _mercy_ of the Nocturnus Order—and anything and everything we may do to you is fully within our rights."

He leaned forward, planting his hands onto the table. A glimmer of fear crossed the woman's face as Hermione stood, breath bated, at his side. In an instant, the woman's expression shifted, her eyes flickering to where Malfoy's hand rested on the table. Sucking in a breath, Hermione noticed a slight shimmer between his palm and the table; the affiliation making a bid for release.

As if sensing her attention, Malfoy glanced at Hermione and lifted his hands, slipping them into his pockets.

Mind rapid with comprehension, Hermione stared hard at the woman and said, "You would _really_ rather talk to us than wait and deal with the guard. Because you won't like what comes from them. We'll give you a few minutes to consider your options."

The woman continued to stare at them, amusement mingled with apprehension, and Hermione casually nodded towards the door; Malfoy followed her from the room and released a string of curses on the other side.

"She isn't going to talk to us," he said, lips pressed into a thin line. "It was _never_ about talking to us."

"It was about verifying you're in possession of the affiliation," Hermione concluded, her voice soft and breathy. "Which means Avance needed to be sure it's obtained its full strength. That's why she's come here."

"And why she intentionally sought our attention," he growled out, pacing the corridor with an irritated huff. "What is Avance's game plan here? How did they plant someone inside the banner carriers? And how did they know we would hold court?"

"If I may," Ben interrupted, his hands clasped at his front. "Would only have been a matter of planting the right bug in the right ears for the French banners to complain, Lunae."

"You think Avance arranged for us to hold _court_?" Hermione asked, exasperated with the situation. "How could they have—"

"Because they've been a step ahead of us this entire time, haven't they?" Malfoy drawled, his voice dripping with contempt. "They arranged the fucking _Ascension_—of course they could have convinced the right people to cause a fuss over the situation in France."

Ben scowled, folding his arms. "She cannot leave the grounds, Lunae. You must submit her for _further _questioning if she refuses to speak."

Malfoy looked directly at her, and Hermione felt a shiver chase down her spine. Pain and uncertainty hovered in the depths of his stare, and she could feel his reticence through the crescent at her wrist. Her chest felt tight, her breaths coming in quick as she found herself unable to tear her eyes from his.

_Torture_. Ben was referring to torturing the woman for information, and they all knew it.

"If she manages to escape, Granger," Malfoy breathed, his face pained.

Because they both remembered, Hermione knew—even if they hadn't discussed it in so many words—the way his aunt had tortured her in the same manor.

With a shaky nod and tears stinging at her eyes, Hermione opened her mouth.

"Lunae!"

At last Malfoy looked from her towards the interrogation room where one of the guards from inside stood, looking frantic. Malfoy rushed forward, Hermione and Ben on his heels.

"She swallowed something—I don't know what happened—" The guard exclaimed, clapping his hands to the sides of his head as he ducked down beside the woman.

The woman lay on the ground, her skin pale and eyes blurred with tears, her body twitching. A mass of white foam spilled from her lips, and she stilled.

Gaping wordlessly, Malfoy stared at the woman, a surprised furrow in his brow. "She just—you've got to be fucking kidding me—"

Tears sprung from Hermione's eyes, streaming silently down her cheeks as she stared at the woman's lifeless body laying on the floor, magical tethers still binding her to the table. Hoarsely, she whispered, "How?"

"She hardly moved, Lunae," the guard exclaimed, shaking his head. "It happened so fast, and then she was on the floor."

Countenance stiffening, Malfoy nodded. "She was willing to die rather than to be interrogated. She must have had poison—a capsule or something—see if you can figure out from her blood. _Merlin_, this is fucked up."

"It doesn't make sense," Hermione breathed, glancing his way. "Not if her aim was to be captured to speak to you. Unless she was able to pass on what she had learned about the affiliation somehow."

"Or her plan just went wrong," the guard bit out, drawing his wand; he looked a little queasy, an unpleasant bow to his mouth. "I will get her to the Nocturnus healers."

"I've alerted Dagomir," Ben advised from the doorway.

Staring at everyone, Hermione couldn't make sense of anything other than the feel of Malfoy's hand slipping into hers, gripping hers like an iron vice. Moments later, thoughts swimming in anguish, she felt herself dragged from the room.

* * *

**Content Description: **In this chapter, a woman from Avance infiltrates Nocturnus court. When caught and taken for questioning, she refuses to speak, and when threatened with magical torture to learn how she got onto the grounds, the woman ingests a poisonous tablet and takes her own life. If you'd like a full description of the chapter, I'd be happy to provide one in a PM.

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading everyone! I really appreciate all your kind words.

Hugs to my wonderful team, Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	25. Chapter 25

"So I have been wracking my _bleeding_ brain," Draco drawled, his back against the headboard in his sleeping quarters, "and I cannot for the life of me figure out how Avance is consistently ahead of us."

They had spent the bulk of the evening in council deliberations and had only just returned to their private wing; Draco was beyond ready for sleep.

Granger glanced his way from where she had just crossed the threshold into the room. "Specifically?"

Shaking his head, Draco stared at the silver crown tie clip she had gifted him as he fidgeted with it. "All of it. It's all specifics. The Ascension. They knew about our trip to Italy. They've been targeting Nocturnus in France… and the woman, today. They knew we would hold court, for Merlin's sake."

A tentative look on her face, she settled onto the foot of the bed, tucking one leg beneath her as the other hung over the edge. "I can't figure it out either."

"And…" Frowning, he went on. "I'm trying to figure out how to turn the tables on them. So far, we've played into all of their expectations. And it's driving me up the fucking wall."

Releasing a long breath, her shoulders sunk. "I don't know what to say. They must simply be watching us closer than we realised. Or maybe…" Trailing off, she shook her head again. "Maybe we're predictable."

Meeting her gaze, Draco chewed on his tongue for a long moment. "Do you know what we need to do? Talk to the Ministry. You know, that summons and all."

Granger released a quiet snicker. "I guess I thought you were just ignoring that since they can't actually do anything."

"I was," Draco confirmed. "But think about it—Avance obviously did something to spook Shacklebolt with the _expectation_ it would deter us somehow. That we would be wary of our own Ministry."

"So to reach out to them," she breathed, eyes sparkling, "would go against their expectations."

Toying with the tie clip, he added, "It's not a foolproof plan but… there's more. We need to do _something_ that no one outside of Nocturnus would know—and then if it gets back to Avance somehow…"

With a sharp intake of breath, her face tightened. "You think someone's leaking information."

"I don't know," Draco said evenly, dropping his gaze to the quilt. "It's a heavy accusation. But we might simply consider the idea. If Avance didn't have a hand in orchestrating our court today… there were still _hundreds_ of people who knew about it beforehand."

"But the Nocturnus oaths," Granger muttered, her brows knitted.

"Are not unbreakable," Draco said carefully. "Not like the Lunae bonds, anyways. _I_ certainly wouldn't want to break a Nocturnus oath, even so."

Silence fell between the pair of them, and he could feel the tension radiating from her; uncertain whether she found the idea too outlandish to consider, he leaned back, sweeping his fringe from his face.

At last, she released a sigh. "I have personal history with Kingsley. I'll see about arranging a meeting to _discuss_ our summons."

"Good." Feeling the weight of thousands on his shoulders, Draco set the crown pin down on the bedside table, rubbing at his weary eyes. "Something tells me tomorrow's going to be another long day. I'm going to get some sleep."

Rising to her feet from the foot of the bed, Granger nodded with a muted, "Okay." Ducking in, she brushed her lips across his cheek and said, "I'm going to have a shower—clear my head a little. I hope."

"Right," Draco mused, catching her wrist as she turned to walk away; she spun back, facing him. "You're okay? After what happened today—with the woman."

Pressing her lips into a thin, unconvincing smile, she whispered, "I'm okay."

"Liar," he huffed, dragging his thumb across the crescent on her wrist. "If you aren't, you know you can—"

"I will be," she said, cutting him off. Belatedly, her false smile widened. He allowed her wrist to fall from his grip and offered her a nod; it was the least he could do to give her space to process on her own. A hint of something more genuine pulled at her lips as she whispered, "Good night, Draco."

Silently, he stared after her as she turned and left the room.

* * *

Blinking awake, Hermione was startled to realise the spot beside her in bed was cold. More often than not, she was the first to awake, and even when Malfoy rose first, she was prone to light sleep and usually stirred as well. Stretching with a wide yawn, she noted his pillow was also cold.

She rose and padded towards his en suite, finding no evidence of his presence, and the sitting room was empty. It wasn't unusual for him to leave their wing without her, but a cursory glance at the decorative clock on the wall suggested it was only half six. Malfoy rarely woke before eight. Stifling a yawn, Hermione dressed and prepared for her day.

Expecting to find him with a mug of coffee and a slice of rye with marmalade, she made her way towards the kitchens.

But in the breakfast nook where he usually preferred his toast, she found only Narcissa instead, sipping from a cup of tea as she flipped idly through a copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

"Good morning," Hermione said, flashing a smile and slipping into her usual seat as she poured herself a tall glass of lemon water and selected a slice of toast from Podski's usual assortment.

Narcissa flashed a brief, tight-lipped smile. "And to you, dear. I trust you slept well."

Never quite certain how much to share with the woman, Hermione nodded. "As well as could be expected." While Narcissa technically wasn't on the council, she lived in the Manor and was privy to the comings and goings of the council and guards, so Hermione usually kept her references to inside Nocturnus matters vague.

"Ah, yes," Narcissa said, taking another small sip of her tea. "I heard something about a woman… nasty business."

Forcing a swallow, Hermione agreed, "It certainly was." She added with a wince, "Things keep getting stranger and stranger around here."

"Welcome," the woman responded, a demure smile tugging at her lips, "to life as a Malfoy."

Grateful for the reprieve, Hermione chuckled, taking a bite of her toast and washing it down with a sip of her water.

Narcissa added with a flippant wave, "Of course, you and Draco seem to be navigating uncharted waters, even as far as I'm concerned."

The concession didn't make Hermione feel any better, and she merely selected another slice of toast, suddenly ravenous after the events of the day before, wherein she hadn't had much time to eat. Taking a bite, she asked, "Speaking of—have you seen Draco this morning?"

"I haven't," Narcissa said, lifting her chin. "Although I can't say I see him very often anymore at all." A spasm of guilt chased through Hermione, and she made a mental note that they ought to try and spend more time with his mother. "I _am_ surprised he's already awake, though."

"So was I," Hermione mused, and the pair of them fell into silence. Once she'd finished her breakfast, Hermione offered a smile and rose to her feet. "I think I'll go see if I can track him down."

With another leisurely sip of her tea, Narcissa said, "Very well. Enjoy your day, Hermione."

"And you."

Hastily gathering her dishes and carrying them into the kitchen, despite the elves' many admonitions that they preferred to clean up after her, she retreated back to their quarters, hoping he would have returned by now—but still there was nothing.

He wasn't on the roof or in the piano room, and as she made a meandering path towards the Nocturnus Wing, she decided to duck into the owlery and send a letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt, requesting as benignly as she could that they schedule an appointment to meet with him to discuss the Wizengamot summons.

Which, of course, wasn't the true intention behind it. But Hermione suspected it to be a delicate matter.

When every guard she came across admitted they hadn't seen Malfoy, a spasm of concern chased through her. It had been well over an hour since she had awoken to cold silence, and she was starting to worry that something had happened to him.

Frowning, she froze in the corridor as she left the owlery, and an idea passed her mind. Staring some distance ahead of her, she announced, "Podski."

Moments later, Podski appeared before her, a wide, toothy grin on his face. "Mistress Hermione!" Dipping into a bow, he added, "Miss has never called upon Podski! What a day!"

Offering the elf a warm smile, she said, "I could use your help with something—do you happen to know where Draco went early this morning?"

"Podski knows!" the elf exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hermione clenched her jaw, wishing she had thought to ask an elf before she spent three quarters of an hour traipsing around the Manor. "Master Draco is working in his lab!"

"The lab," Hermione breathed, drawing out the word as she threw her head backwards. Turning back to Podski, she asked, "Are you able to direct me?"

Podski only frowned. "The wards is up, Miss Hermione." Before she could contemplate what that could mean—whether he didn't want to be disturbed at all—the elf grinned widely once more, brandishing a hand. "Podski will take you there!"

As she slipped her hand into the elf's bony one, she was instantly Apparated to a dark corridor, and before she could say anything, Podski Disapparated once more, leaving her outside of a steel door. Hesitant, Hermione tapped gently on the door, leaning back against the wall as she waited, worrying her lower lip with uncertainty.

Maybe he hadn't told her where he was going because he didn't want to be bothered. She had all but convinced herself to turn and walk away when the door swung open.

Malfoy peered at her, lifting a brow. He wore a pair of black frames that suited the structure of his face more than she would have imagined. His hair was disheveled, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, the top few buttons undone at his collar.

There was a slight flush to his cheeks as he breathed, "Hi."

"Hi," Hermione replied, cautious. "I'm sorry to bother you—I didn't know where you were, and I was starting to wonder whether you were alright…"

As she trailed off, feeling out of sorts, he glanced swiftly at his watch, and his eyes widened slightly. With a grimace, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. I've been working—didn't mean to worry you." Stepping back from the doorway, he dropped his head to the side, and Hermione followed him into the lab.

It was more elaborate than anything she'd seen. A series of cauldrons stood, ready for brewing, along one workbench, and several cabinets were stocked with ingredients along the far wall. Looking around, she said, "This is astonishing. What are you working on?" Peering into a bubbling cauldron, she paused.

"The elves like to keep a stock of household potions on hand," he said, waving a dismissive hand as if keeping a Manor full of people supplied with potions was nothing. "And I've fallen a bit behind with the way things have been lately." Wrinkling his nose he added, "But that isn't why I'm down here."

Based on the corridor outside—although the lab itself was bright and spotless—she surmised they were underground. And his words confirmed it.

"What's going on?" she asked, walking closer to see what he was examining.

"The Nocturnus healers were able to give me a blood sample of the woman from yesterday," he began, his voice low and clipped. "I'm trying to extract the poison she ingested to see if we can learn anything. It… isn't nice work. I didn't want to upset you over it."

Swallowing, she nodded. "We're in this together. It wouldn't have upset me."

Even as she spoke the words, she could still picture the way the woman foamed from the mouth, her body going still and rigid as the life faded from her eyes. Hermione had seen death before—Merlin, she'd fought in a war—but that had been a long time ago. And it felt different. This felt infinitely more personal.

Malfoy looked unconvinced, so she carried on. "Have you found anything?"

"Not yet," he said, carding a hand through his hair as he adjusted his frames. Her stomach twisted at the way he looked in glasses, and she felt a flush colour her cheeks. Unaware of her interest, he paced forward. "I'm attempting to separate the component parts but it isn't quick."

Looking over his shoulder at where the small sample was bubbling in a miniature cauldron, she frowned. "What are you hoping to find? And how long have you been working on this?"

"I couldn't sleep. And honestly? I don't even know what I'm looking for—but it feels better than sitting around doing nothing."

With his admission, she became aware of the half slur to his words, the sluggishness to his motions. Eyeing him with concern, she said quietly, "We're doing far from nothing. Maybe you could stand to take a break if it doesn't require monitoring right now."

"I can't," he said, shaking his head with another agitated hand through his hair. Blinking several times, he added, "I can't walk away in case I miss something."

For a man ordinarily so well composed, even with some of the circumstances they'd been through, it was disarming to see him frazzled. Turning to face him, Hermione dragged her hands down his arms. He blinked at her, and she could see the fatigue on his face, the shadows beneath his eyes. She whispered, "Take a break."

Hesitating for a moment, he said, "I suppose I could eat." Flashing her a doleful look, he said, "Could I convince you to bring me something?"

"You could not," Hermione snapped, holding his stare. "You can go get it yourself and get out of this lab for a while."

"Fine," he said, tone dismissive. "As soon as I've got something—"

Lifting an unimpressed brow, she watched as he performed a series of spells on the sample before she absently remarked, "I've not seen you wear glasses before."

Removing them, he rubbed at his eyes and returned them to the bridge of his nose. "I don't wear them often."

"You should," she said carefully, staring at him as she leaned against an empty workbench, folding her arms. When he glanced her way, he hesitated, his expression shifting and lips twitching with a smirk. Dropping her voice, she added, "They look good on you."

Stepping closer, he took hold of her upper arms, brushing his lips across her forehead. His voice was scarcely above a breath as he said, "I know you're trying to distract me—and I appreciate it." Drawing back, he stared at her. "I do. And I'm going to put a pin in this for later because this lab is highly sanitised."

A shiver chased down her spine as she drew him closer; his body brushed against hers. "There's no fun in that."

Groaning, he glanced away, dragging one hand down to her arse. "I need to be sure this sample is kept protected." It was only then that Hermione noticed a slight shimmer in the air over the sample, and realised he had it warded, presumably given whatever fatal properties it possessed. Dragging her earlobe between his teeth as he ducked in, he added, "As much as I'd love to bend you over this table right now."

Feeling a hitch in her breath, Hermione swallowed and said, "Maybe another time, then."

A slow grin spread across his face. "You bet." Stepping away, he approached the sample once more, and she released a sigh. Glancing back at her, humour playing on his face, he said, "Give me ten minutes to be sure this is working—and then I'll take a break. Deal?"

With a smile of her own, she nodded. "Deal."

* * *

Leaning against the counter in the kitchen, Draco watched as one of the elves joyfully prepared him a turkey sandwich, lips twitching as he watched Granger's futile attempts at offering her assistance.

She would have offended the creature if he hadn't warned them all in advance not to take her efforts as an affront.

When the elf presented his plate—complete with chips and a dill pickle—Draco nodded. "Thank you, Patroclus. It looks delicious." Patroclus squealed, clapping his hands together, and when Draco took a large bite of the sandwich, the elf busied himself elsewhere.

Granger sighed, leaning back alongside him, snagging one of his chips.

He had seen the flash of disappointment on her face when he tucked his glasses into their case upon leaving the lab and made a mental note that she liked glasses. Idly, Draco wondered what that suggested about her friendship with Potter, but it was neither here nor there given he had seen the platonic way the pair of them interacted.

"What are you going to do with the poison once you figure it out?" she asked thoughtfully, chewing her bottom lip.

"I don't know," Draco mused. "I don't think there's much really to be done with it, I just…"

"You need to feel like you have control over something," she interpreted, staring at the opposite wall.

Glancing at her, he felt a frisson of something chase through him. Never could he have imagined opening up to her in the ways he had—like he never had with anyone. It ought to have annoyed him that she was so adept at reading him, but they had already been through so much together since the bonding, and it only further solidified the belief that he had made the right decision.

He responded after a moment, "Yes."

"I owled Kingsley," Granger went on, swiping another of his chips and breaking it in half; he stared at the wisp of steam that escaped from the hot interior. "Hopefully he grants us a meeting—it will mean Avance's claws aren't in too deep already."

Nodding as he swallowed another bite of his sandwich, Draco pondered the thought. "Seems to me Avance has their claws everywhere."

Granger shifted closer, casting a furtive look around the otherwise empty kitchen. When she spoke, her words were scarcely a breath. "There are thousands of people camped out on the grounds, ready at your word. _We_ have claws of our own."

"Claws," Draco echoed, shaking his head, "that I don't want to use unless I must."

Her shoulder brushed against his. "I know."

Granger rummaged for a butter knife and sliced his dill pickle in half. As she claimed one half for herself, Draco shot her a look and swiped his own, eating it before she could take his as well. Her lips twitched when her stare found his, and after the way she had looked at him in the lab, he was toying with the idea of dragging her to their quarters.

Allowing a smirk to pull at his lips, he reached for her hand, tugging her into his chest.

But his wand vibrated in his pocket and, startled, he reached for it with a grimace. "I've got to get back—something happened with the sample."

Eyes flashing with uncertainty, she said, "I'm coming with you."

"Of course you are," he huffed, taking hold of her hand and Apparating the pair of them without waiting. The subterranean level was a maze in itself even if Draco hadn't warded the corridors around his lab beyond access. For a moment he wondered how Granger had even found him—but when they landed in the lab, he strode towards the sample, peering closely at the results.

Frowning, he swept a hand through his hair. "Cyanide."

"Right," Granger breathed at his side. "Quick and efficient."

Unsatisfied, Draco was careful to trap the extracted poison in a hermetic vial so its contents couldn't be accidentally inhaled or ingested. Grimacing, he said, "A favourite of organisations involved in espionage where the operatives face likelihood of interrogation… and Muggle. But why when there are so many creative poisons to brew from magical ingredients?"

"Simplicity," she suggested, "or ease of access."

"Both," Draco conceded, "and effectiveness. As we saw, it didn't take long to… well."

Leaning against an empty stretch of wall, her arms folded, Granger postulated, "So what does this tell you? About Avance? Or whatever else you were hoping to learn."

"If they're giving people cyanide pills," Draco said with a frown, "they mean serious business. And cyanide is straight and to the point. Remember the chamber in Italy? The traps there were Muggle too."

"And the sword," she hedged. "Avance—Alba or wherever they're getting their influences from… is only interested in doing what it takes with no frills."

"No matter how it looks," he finished with a sigh. Gazing at the vial, he added, "Which doesn't tell us anything more than we already knew." Pulling Granger's hand into his, drawing strength from her magical energy, he met her stare. "Let's hope your friend Shacklebolt is in a good mood. We need to act—and fast."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hi everyone! Thanks so much as always for reading this little story. Hearing your thoughts, theories, and suspicions about characters mean more than I can say with everything going on in the world. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Alpha and beta love to my wonderful team Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	26. Chapter 26

Walking into the room without looking up, Hermione brandished a scroll. "We've received a letter."

"From the Ministry?" Malfoy asked, sweeping a towel through his wet hair when she glanced his way.

She froze, unable to keep from casting a quick sweep of his bare chest. Clearing her throat, she pressed her lips into a smile. "Yes. Kingsley has agreed to meet with us. Although his response sounds less than enthused."

Lips twitching with a smirk, he nodded. "Which we expected. When are we going?"

"Two o'clock." When his eyes widened, she added, "He hasn't exactly given us much notice—but maybe that's a good thing. We don't have anything else planned for today, do we?"

"No." Eyes tightening, he fixed her with a stare, humour tugging at his lips despite the situation, presumably at her reaction to his partial nudity. "It will be an interesting dynamic to visit the Ministry. The impression I've been given is that we aren't exactly their favourite people—although how much that has to do with Avance will be up for discussion. I'll let the guards know."

It felt strange to consider that after spending years working for the Ministry now she would have to walk in with armed guards at her side. But Malfoy was right—though she hardly cared to admit it—they didn't know exactly what they were walking into.

She watched as he left through the sitting room and spoke with the guards posted in their private wing before returning with a tight expression. "Let's hope we're making the right call here. For all we know, Shacklebolt's in bed with Avance and we're walking into another trap."

"No," Hermione mused, grimacing. "I think Harry would have warned me if that was the state of things at the Ministry."

Dropping his voice, he intoned, "Potter might not know." As the implication settled into the back of her mind—that things at the Ministry might be worsening behind closed doors—he stepped closer, staring down at her and pulling her hand into his. "We just need to be prepared."

Nodding, she managed a strained, "Of course."

* * *

Draco felt more uncomfortable than he had anticipated when they arrived at the Ministry. Not keen on drawing too much attention to themselves, they'd dressed in something more innocuous than their Nocturnus robes—but it didn't help to have three guards along dressed in uniform.

And even though Granger had been an employee at the Ministry and knew her way around, she worried her lip as they arrived in the main atrium. Draco could feel eyes on him as they made for the lifts, and he fought the urge to sneer in return. Their aim had been to keep the chaos in France at bay, and it felt as if everyone in the Ministry was opposed to them as a result.

Chin held high, he planted a hand to the small of Granger's back, pleased when she shifted closer to his touch.

He had never had cause to become overly familiar with the layout of the Ministry, and as Granger led their small group along a maze of corridors, he was startled to see them pass by the Auror's Office. With a small wave, she caught Potter's attention through the window, and the man blinked in surprise as he took them in before venturing out into the hallway.

"Hermione," Potter greeted with a nod. "Malfoy—and entourage."

Draco managed a tight, "Potter," in return. He supposed the man had fed him dinner, which put them on a different plane of existence with one another. It was the least he could do, for Granger's sake, to be friendly.

"We are meeting with Kingsley," she said quietly, her tone careful. "Anything we should know about?"

In that instant, Draco realised she hadn't needed to walk this way—but he was grateful for her forethought, as Potter's face wrinkled with a grimace.

With a quick glance around, he nodded. "Avance has been prodding Kingsley—more than before. You're going to have to tread carefully; Arcand is taking a very aggressive road in getting the British Ministry on his side. I don't think Kingsley's fallen for it, but… he's under a lot of pressure, and the Wizengamot isn't interested in hearing your side of the matter." Glancing around again, he added, "You didn't hear any of that from me."

Swallowing, Draco clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Potter."

With a half-hearted press of the lips, Potter melted back into the Auror's Office; Granger offered Draco a mere flicker of her brows and they carried onwards.

By the time they reached the Minister's office via her detour, an unpleasant feeling had settled in the pit of Draco's stomach. More and more, he wondered whether they were making a mistake in seeking out the Ministry as a potential ally of sorts.

Especially when, by all appearances, the Wizengamot was opposed to their presence in Britain at all.

The expression on Shacklebolt's face when they passed by his administrator's desk was unreadable, but he ushered the group of them into the office. Two of the guards kept post outside the office, while the third hovered by the door at their backs as they slipped into the seats across from Shacklebolt's desk. If the man was disconcerted by the presence of the guards, he gave no sign.

While Draco was still considering how to broach the subject at hand, Granger leaned forward in her seat. "Minister Shacklebolt, thank you for agreeing to meet with us today—"

The man, however, stared at her and raised a hand. "Kingsley, please, Hermione."

All Draco knew about the situation was that the two of them had fought in the Order of the Phoenix together during the war, but from the relief that overtook her countenance, he surmised it to be a good sign.

"Of course," she said with a peacemaking smile. "As you are aware, we've received a Wizengamot summons. However, with the rules governing the Nocturnus Order, we don't operate under the realm of governmental rule, so essentially—"

"It means nothing," Shacklebolt said with a bit of a chuckle, glancing Draco's way. "I told the Wizengamot that, but they insisted that it needed to look as if they were doing something. I think a few of them suspected they might have been able to strongarm you into compliance. What better alternative they think they might see, I have no idea."

Confused, Draco cast a glance in Granger's direction, but her face was tight. Clearing his throat, he asked, "What exactly do you mean by that, sir?"

Shacklebolt hesitated for a moment, looking between them. "I can only assume that everything said between the three of us will be kept in the strictest confidence." When they both nodded, he went on with a sigh. "Minister Arcand has been breathing down my neck, and many on the Wizengamot fear what might happen if we don't follow along with his demands. That is why I allowed them to send you that summons—knowing full well that you likely wouldn't respond."

"Kingsley," Granger intoned, her chin down and lips parted, "are you saying you support us?"

Interlacing his fingers on his desk, Shacklebolt said quietly, "I am. And for Merlin's sake, please tell me you have something useful in bringing down Avance or dislodging Arcand from his seat."

"Unfortunately it's a bit more complicated than that," Granger broke in, hesitantly meeting Draco's stare. He offered an infinitesimal nod, and she went on. "Arcand is just a mouthpiece—a role in a position of power through whom Avance can make their interests known; the leader is a character named Cosette. But their roots lie with an ancient society out of Italy called Alba." Glancing at Granger, uncertain how much to share, he carried on when she offered a nod. "As it turns out, Alba has always existed for the sole purpose of dismantling the Nocturnus Order."

With a grimace, he held Shacklebolt's stare.

If the Ministry was on their side beneath the public facade, this could all bounce back on everyone involved. Shacklebolt had a vested interest in keeping this information close to the chest.

The Minister cursed loudly and released a huff. "What can the Ministry do for you that won't appear overt? Outwardly, we need to keep Avance's suspicions low."

"Get the Wizengamot off our backs," Granger carried on. "We need to ensure access to Portkeys and other international travel we need won't be affected. The reason we can do anything with Avance at all is because we aren't confined by the bureaucracy between two Ministries. Anything you can do to keep our way forward smooth and undeterred would be appreciated."

"I will do what I can," Shacklebolt responded, glancing once more between the two of them. "But for the sake of simplicity in our operations here at the Ministry and with regards to relations between Great Britain and France, it cannot appear that way." Swallowing, he added, "Some would have my job for this. Many are in dissent of your involvement, thinking you are causing problems where there are none."

"They are in support of Arcand's radical shifts then?" Granger asked, her tone irritated.

"Some are," Shacklebolt conceded. "And some simply do not care to make waves."

"And that's why the situation has risen to the point where it's at now," Draco said with a hint of a sneer. "Because no one's been willing to stand against Arcand. It feels familiar, doesn't it."

Evenly, the Minister responded, "Then thank Merlin _someone_ is."

Settling back into his chair, Draco offered a slow nod. "Noted."

"If anyone asks," Shacklebolt said, rising to his feet and adjusting his tie, "you've been here today because of outstanding sanctions."

With a snicker, Draco followed suit, taking Granger's hand and helping her to her feet. "Very well, then."

A troubled look crossed Shacklebolt's face as he rounded the desk towards the door. "Unfortunately, I fear there may be some within my Ministry I cannot trust."

"Avance?" Granger asked, her expression calculating.

Shacklebolt didn't respond but to tilt his head in an affirming gesture. "Be cautious in your correspondence."

Reading between the lines, Draco exchanged another glance with Granger as he extended a hand towards the Minister. "Thank you for your time."

With a brisk shake, Shacklebolt dropped his hand and opened the door; they left without another word.

* * *

Rubbing at bleary eyes, Draco leaned back against the headboard. Fatigue had settled into his bones and his soul; beside him, Granger had nodded off several times with one of the Alba tomes open in her lap.

Staring at the comforter, he announced, "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"I know the feeling," she returned without missing a beat. "I think I've read this paragraph eight times."

Leaning forward, he swept a hand through his hair. "What are we doing anymore? I don't know what we're meant to be doing next."

Marking her page, Granger set her book on the nightstand with an ostentatious yawn. She pulled her knees tightly into her chest as she leaned back; when he glanced her way, her eyes were sorrowful and red from strain. "I think I just keep telling myself if we keep going and keep studying, we're bound to find something eventually. But I don't know anymore."

Shifting back, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders; without hesitation she sagged into him, dropping her face into his neck. Ordinarily, she was the level-headed one when he wound up caught in mental battles of his own making. To see her at a loss left a bitter twist in his stomach when it was because of him they were both in the situation.

Releasing a heavy breath, he said, "Avance is at our doorstep—hell, they've walked in the fucking door."

"We'll meet the council tomorrow," she said, her voice muffled against his collar. "And I keep trying to deny it to myself, but we have two options. We sit around and research and poke around in Alba's business and allow Avance time to prepare…"

"Or we hold our ground," Draco concluded in a breath. "And we show them we aren't going to sit by and allow them to take what we have."

Lifting her head, she met his gaze. "We take a stand." Swallowing, she shook her head, her expression lost. "They've made this personal. We need to bring the fight to _their_ door."

"France," Draco mused, his fingers tightening around her arm as she shifted closer into his side. "What can we do to make them hurt?"

"We knock off the head," she whispered; the words hung, suspended in tension, between them for a long moment. When she blinked up at him again, her eyes were watery. "We have to take Arcand out of the equation."

Hesitating, Draco clenched his jaw. "Arcand is the king—but the queen has the power."

"It doesn't matter—without the king, the queen has no game left to play. And we have no way of reaching the queen," she reminded him with another yawn. "So unless you have a way of drawing out Cosette…"

His brain felt fit to combust with everything that had happened—and all they still needed to accomplish. "If we take Arcand out… who steps into power in France?"

"It's a dangerous game," she whispered, voice hushed. "The aim was to avoid war in France. You're talking about… inciting a rebellion or—"

"I'm talking about giving a nudge to things that are already in motion."

Face hard, he stared at her. With a wince, she sat up, turning to face him with her legs folded beneath her. "The resistance."

"The resistance," Draco agreed. "The creatures. If we can overpower Arcand—take the Ministry by force…"

On a gentle breath, Granger said, "Cosette loses her king."

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth. "Checkmate."

* * *

The council table fell silent.

Finally Dagomir cleared his throat, breaking the tension, and said, "You want to forcibly remove Claude Arcand from his position in the French Ministry?"

"If we can do it without force," Draco said quietly, "that would be ideal. I realise we have no place in French politics."

"Cosette has forced our hand," Bergen said, his expression tight with consideration. "She has given us no choice but to get involved. I will look into the situation and see if we have any Nocturnus in the Ministry or on the French Wizengamot."

Draco glanced at Granger and gave a quick nod. "Good. That sounds good."

"It is not unheard of," Bergen went on, "for a Minister to be forced from his seat if the community is displeased. Your idea to incite a rebellion is… a dangerous one and possibly costly. But if we can remove Arcand, Cosette will lose her mouthpiece."

Nodding, Granger said, "Exactly. If Avance can't be heard, it will be a blow to their power and influence. Even more so if we can somehow establish an anti-Avance Minister in his place."

"I like it," Hugo announced to the group at large. "But what of Arcand? Surely he won't go down without a fight—not if Cosette is blackmailing him into the political stance he has taken on Avance's behalf."

They all considered the question for a moment, and Draco glanced at Hugo. It was a surprisingly astute thought for the young Swede, who looked bored at council meetings more often than not. At last he said, "Arcand will simply have to deal with it. Whatever he did that was unsavoury enough for him to wind up in Cosette's pocket will be his downfall."

He saw Granger's expression falter beside him and hesitated.

At last she folded her hands on the table and spoke. "It is unfortunate, if Arcand's involvement in the situation is unwilling. But he drew his lot, the same as anyone else—and we haven't been given a choice in the matter either. This is all Cosette's doing."

"The best way to strike nonconfidence in their leader will be through the French resistance," Bergen said; Oro's quill scribbled frantically down a scroll of parchment. "Arcand has his supporters, of course, and I daresay there will be enough of them to cause problems. And Cosette certainly won't sit back and allow us to knock Arcand from power without a fight."

"But this is one case where the bureaucratic lines might help us," Granger intoned, meeting Bergen's eye. "Arcand was elected into his position, and if the situation is dire, he can be removed by his people. Cosette will have trouble manipulating enough people to keep him in the Minister's seat."

Draco felt his lips twitch as he stared at her. "An excellent point. Who is second in command to Arcand?"

"Ministerial elections in France, and even in England, are not always so simple," Granger carried on, as the one at the table who knew the most about the inner workings of the office of the Minister for Magic. "Sometimes the Head Auror is up for election—sometimes the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Sometimes it's a close adviser of the Minister. It depends on the dynamics at the time."

"An election takes time," Bergen said, shaking his head. "Time we don't have and won't need. Arcand won't be running up the end of his term—he will be removed in advance of it. All we need to do is have someone credible in the French Ministry, and we have influence with the French people that we can nudge one of our own into the seat."

Granger's lips curled with a small smile. "I vote we proceed with this plan."

The notion was seconded and carried around the council. Pressing his palms flat on the table, Draco leaned forward in his seat. "It sounds to me as if Claude Arcand's days as the Minister for Magic are numbered."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hi everyone, I'd just like to mention that this chapter was written months ago and takes no influence from current political climates. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that you're all keeping extra safe and healthy. Thanks for reading as always!

Alpha love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and beta hugs to ravenslight.


	27. Chapter 27

Emerging from a scalding hot shower, Hermione felt mental strain crushing her from all sides; even with the soothing hot water, she felt far from refreshed. Their meeting at the Ministry the day before had only served to inform them the situation was more involved at home than they had realised—despite that the silver lining was Kingsley's support of their efforts with Avance.

Rolling out her neck, she towelled off, pulled on a silk robe, and stepped from the en suite into the bedroom where she had only slept a handful of times since they had returned home from Italy.

It was remarkable how quickly she had come to refer to the manor as home—a place to where she had once been unable to fathom returning.

Making her way into the walk-in closet, Hermione flipped through a few sets of robes, assuming they would meet with the council at some point later.

She jumped, startled, when a set of hands entwined around her from behind, a hard chest pressing firmly into her back. But in an instant she relaxed, a smile pulling at her lips when Malfoy swept her damp hair over her opposite shoulder and planted a lingering kiss to her throat.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a breathy hitch to her voice.

Squeezing one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her dressing gown, he murmured, "You don't need robes today." When she hesitated, eyes flickering to the side, he stepped back and elaborated. "I thought maybe we could do something fun. That is if that's okay with you."

"You mean, you don't think council meetings are fun?" she teased, a chill sweeping through him at the loss of contact as she turned to face him.

A wry smile crossed his face. "No," he said quietly, "I can't say I do. Not when we regularly debate ways to stay alive. We can see the council tomorrow."

Brandishing a hand at the contents of her closet, Hermione smiled. "Fine, then what should I wear for your fun day?" Waiting, she leaned against a blank stretch of wall, following him with her eyes as he shifted through her clothes, a look of deep concentration on his face. Finally he selected a soft blue summer dress with lace accents. Accepting the dress, she intoned, "Good choice."

"Unfortunately," he said with a sigh as he selected a pair of white flats to match, "we're going to have to wear mild glamours, but it seemed a small price to pay. You don't want to know what I told Ben to get him to agree to even that."

Something leapt to life in her stomach as she stared at him; if she wasn't mistaken, it was excitement that shone in his eyes. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing?"

"Soon enough. Now get ready." Flashing a grin, he ducked from the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione found Malfoy waiting for her in her sitting room, his hair and eyes glamoured dark though his face looked otherwise the same. Stepping closer, he swept a hand through her straight dark hair, a wrinkle pulling at the bridge of his nose.

Lips twitching, he said, "I miss the curls already." Planting a gentle kiss to her lips, he added, "But you look beautiful all the same."

Entwining her hands around his neck, she deepened the kiss, her core flaring to life with an enticing twist when he dragged her closer against him. But he drew away, even as he gave a squeeze to her arse, and she murmured, "It's nice to see you positive."

"I'm tired," he breathed, and Hermione felt the sentiment in her soul. "And I want to do something where we don't have to worry about anything—just for the day."

He wore pale jeans and a Muggle t-shirt, and it occurred to her that she had never seen him dressed so casually—in fact, she hadn't realised he even owned anything so simple. Taking her hand into his, he entwined their fingers and Hermione felt the pull of Apparition—moments later, they landed in a narrow alley between two small stone buildings.

Ducking his head out cautiously, he tugged her from the alley, and a sudden burst of sunlight assailed her senses.

"Every summer," he began, pulling her along a meandering cobbled path, "Chippenham, one of the villages in Wiltshire, has a fair. Artisanal goods, theatrical performances, that sort of thing. Once when I was a boy, I snuck out on my broom so I could stock up a hoard of sweets. I'd gone so far as to exchange some sickles for Muggle currency when Mother had taken me to Diagon Alley the week before." His eyes sparkled as he added, "I never heard the end of it from my father once I returned home."

"That's where we are?" Hermione asked as she tittered, looking around the quiet street. But as they rounded the corner into the next block, her heart leapt to see dozens of people mingling, sampling at booths along the street, and at the far end she could see a group of dancers performing on a makeshift stage. Swallowing, she breathed, "Draco, this is lovely."

He merely dropped a kiss to her temple and said, "I thought you might like it."

It meant more to Hermione in that moment, as she took in the villagers laughing and peddling their creations, that he had gone out of his way to pull her from the chaos that had become their life, in order to indulge in something so seemingly ordinary.

Without knowing what he had been planning, Hermione hadn't brought along any Muggle money, but he was well prepared and insisted she select one of everything that caught her eye, and soon they had a number of bags and boxes. One of the craftsmen at a booth sold woodworking, and with a smile that twisted her insides into a knot, Malfoy picked out a small wooden treasure box for her that was painted like the night sky. In return, she insisted he also purchase a small chest similarly adorned with a wolf howling at a full moon above.

The gentleman had been incredibly gratified when Malfoy had peeled a Muggle note from his clip that well exceeded the marked prices of the two pieces.

Admiring the handsome chest as they walked away, he glanced her way and announced he would use it to store the tie clip and cufflinks she had gifted him.

Not for the first time, she was struck with the thought that she didn't even recognise the spoiled, petulant child he had once been.

When she had gone to Malfoy Manor that day with an agenda of her own, she'd had no idea what she was getting herself into. The way he stared at her as they explored and laughed and shared stories—it was something she had never seen coming.

But yet… hanging over it all was the cold, harsh reminder that they had such a challenging, insurmountable road ahead of them. And for all their planning and their efforts, she couldn't see the way forward.

A tightness sat in her chest, moisture tugging at her eyes as she stared at him; he gazed back, the grin fading from his face. With a furrow in his brow, his chin dropped. "Are you alright?"

Nodding voraciously, she swiped at one eye as a tear threatened to escape. Forcing a smile back to her face, she intoned, "Perfect."

His fingers twisted into hers once more.

They had nearly made it through all of the vendors when a series of dark clouds threatened overhead and everyone raced to protect their wares. Shooting Malfoy a glance, Hermione waved a hand over their purchases, casting an innocuous spell to protect them in the event of rain. His lips twitched with a smirk, and he breathed, "Maybe that's our cue to return to real life."

Sighing, Hermione tucked into his side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. With a resigned smile, she said, "I suppose we must."

* * *

Rain poured well into the evening—and to Draco, it felt symbolic.

His day with Granger at the fair had been one of the best he could remember. So rarely did he allow himself reprieve from the crushing weight of his responsibilities, but they had talked and laughed as if they had known one another for a lifetime. As if they weren't burdened with the weight of such heavy decisions.

And now… the rain fell in vertical sheets, even and insistent, soaking the grounds far below as Draco stood on the balcony beneath the torrent, welcoming his loss of control. His clothes and hair were fully soaked through, a chill settling in his bones, but something prevented him from returning inside to his warm quarters. Sleep tugged at his eyes, and yet he remained, his hands clenched with white knuckles around the rail of the balustrade, his bare feet cool on the wet surface of the terrace.

There were no tents around this side of the Manor—before him hung only blessed darkness beyond the veil of rain.

Feeling the presence of another, he waited, gazing into the darkness of night, before glancing behind him, water dripping from his brow into his eyes.

Granger stood on the threshold of the French doors, arms folded across her chest as she worried her bottom lip. Her voice was so soft that, with the rhythmic pounding of the rain he struggled to hear her.

"Are you going to come to bed?"

Clad in a silk camisole with matching shorts for sleep, her hair in riotous curls once more, he swept a glance down the length of her, feeling a stutter in his chest.

With a slow, infinitesimal nod, he murmured, "Soon. Go on without me."

The water reached for his soul, drawing it from within him into its fathomless depths as it poured and poured. Turning back to the darkness of the grounds below—the forest was naught but murky shadows in the distance—he felt a breath stick, harsh, in his throat.

Moments later, a nudge came at his side, and, drawn from his thoughts, a smirk pulled at his lips. Granger stood at his side, soaked to the bone, her thin sleep clothes plastered to her form.

"What," he scoffed with a hint of humour, "do you bloody think you're doing out here? You'll get sick."

Gazing out at the grounds, she replied evenly, "We'll be sick together then."

Her eyes slid to meet his, and in the dim light seeping from the bedroom, he could see the chocolate sparkling in their depths.

Huffing an incredulous laugh, he muttered, "You're fucking crazy, Hermione."

"_You_ married me." She held up her hands, and Draco snickered, mussing a hand through her hair, melted sleek and smooth to her head with the rain. Voice dropping again, she mused, "I had a lot of fun today. Thank you for taking me out."

Nodding, he replied, "I did too." In an instant, a melancholy cloud formed within him, and he released a sigh. "I wish we didn't have to worry about any of this."

"We'll weather this storm." Draco wasn't certain whether her words were meant as irony, given they were in a literal storm, but he sobered at her expression when she turned to him. "We're going to make it through this. I promise."

Staring at her, despair and devastation tugging at his chest, he breathed, "That isn't a thing you can promise."

Sweeping a hand along his cheek and up into his hair, she pressed onto her bare toes, and her lips found his with unexpected pressure as she said against his mouth, "I'm doing it anyways."

Then she was kissing him, her other hand landing on his jaw as her tongue found his own, and on instinct he wrapped his arms around her back, his mind spinning with awareness of her. Her lips were cool and wet from the rain, and Draco could feel the drops from her eyelashes where they fluttered against his cheeks.

Kissing her with everything he could dredge up, he swept his hands down to palm her arse, hitching her legs up to coil around his waist as he backed her against the smooth surface of the wall. Gasping for breath, he dragged his lips along her jaw, nipping at the soft flesh and tasting rainwater mixed with the lingering hint of her perfume.

With a whisper of a breathy moan, her head fell back against the wall, her back flat against it as she tugged at his shirt, peeling it from his soaked chest as he made a breathless effort along her neck and collarbone, breaking only so she could toss his shirt to the floor.

Rain beat down his bare back, cooling his flesh where her nails dragged idle trails along the muscle of his shoulder blades.

Granger reached a hand towards the buckle of his belt, arching into him, her fingers dragging along the smooth leather. Heart pounding in his chest, he wrenched the thin camisole from her body, leaving her bare to his gaze, her nipples pebbled in the chill of the night air. Ducking in, he laved his tongue along her skin, drawing one peak between his teeth and then the other, basking in the sounds he drew from her.

Releasing the buckle of his belt and dropping his jeans with one hand, he kissed her hard again, delving between her lips as he held her against the wall with his body pressed against hers and reached for her shorts.

Slipping his fingers beneath the waistband, he dragged her shorts and knickers as one down her legs, too far gone to the feel of her, and she reached one hand down to palm his cock, her fingers slipping inside his pants. Clutching his length, she cried out when Draco slid two fingers inside of her and bit down on her lower lip.

With an almost silent, "Please," into his ear, her hands stilled on his back as he brought her into a rhythm with his fingers; he pushed his pants down with his other hand, kicking them free of his legs. Breathless, he met her stare for a brief moment as he withdrew his fingers from within her, clutching her hips as rainwater poured, relentless, upon them.

He didn't know how to unpack whatever it was in Granger's eyes when she stared at him, lips parted, and she arched into him with a groan, her chest pressing against his when he plunged into her.

Groaning, he dropped his face into her neck, rolling his hips in a slow, deep rhythm; her cries on each thrust were music, and his eyes fluttered shut from the feel of her. Draco kissed her again, wrapping one arm around her back and keeping her trapped between him and the wall as her hands buried in his drenched hair.

Fully lost to her, his pace escalated to something on the verge of desperation, his lips brushing distractedly against hers, tasting the rain on her mouth as she gasped his name.

Her body against his was slick with water as they moved together, her hips undulating against his as he slammed into her, abandoned of anything else.

Then with a cry she stilled, her nails dragging down his back, her quick breaths warm against his wet skin.

Thrusting into her a few more times, a quake chased through his muscles, and Draco felt release take him, his vision darkening as his orgasm crashed over him like the downpour from above.

Kissing her again, his eyes opened to meet hers as he set her down onto the balcony. His heart raced with adrenaline even as it seized with something else he didn't dare name.

A soft hint of a smile curved her lips, rainwater flowing down her bare body, and as the thrill of release faded, a chill crept through him in its place. Without a word, he wrapped her hand in his and backed her through the doors. Waving a hand, the lights in the room fell, and he dragged her to bed, into the warmth of the comforter.

Within minutes her breathing evened, and Draco felt himself slip towards the welcome edge of sleep, the pair of them entwined in one another.

* * *

Stirring awake, Hermione made to stretch before realising she was locked in a tight hold, her back pressed against Malfoy's chest. Her hair felt damp, curls wild and out of control all around her face. He shifted as she attempted to extract herself, and with a long exhale, he only adjusted his hold before dragging her back against him once more.

As her gaze landed on the glass double doors leading towards the terrace, her eyes widened in horror to see Podski collecting their discarded clothes from the night before. Jabbing an elbow into Malfoy's ribs, she hissed, making to jump up before remembering she was fully nude.

"Relax," he muttered in her ear, his voice thick with sleep. "As if Podski hasn't seen your knickers before."

Merlin, she could _hear_ the smirk in his tone. And his words—though she wasn't certain they were meant to be placating in any way—did little to quell the flush rising in her cheeks.

Malfoy only released another soft, contented sound into the mass of her hair, dragging one hand along her stomach. "Do we get to stay in bed all day?"

Softening, she breathed, "No. We took yesterday off from real life, remember?"

"Right." Releasing her, he rolled onto his back with a wide yawn, stretching his arms out over his head. "We've had a lie-in. We should track down Elias and find out what he's learned about the situation with the French Ministry. We're going to need to plan for whatever comes next there—probably another visit."

Hermione hummed, not in a rush to face the music as she wrapped herself around him, resting her face against his chest and listening to the soothing rhythm of his heart. Memories of the night before floated fresh on her mind—the way he'd touched and kissed her. The way he'd stared at her.

Her chest clenched tightly at the thought of it.

Gazing at her, he idly tugged at some of her tangled curls, and she wondered whether he was thinking of the same things. Finally he pressed his lips to her forehead and shifted free.

Releasing a great sniffle, Hermione groaned, dropping her head back. He turned back towards her, smirking. "Didn't I say you'd catch a cold out there last night?"

Even as her eyes narrowed, she couldn't be mad at him. "Whose fault was it that I was out there in the first place?"

He rose from bed, unashamed in his nakedness, and flashed her a grin. "Mine."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione wrapped herself in the sheets before rising in the cool air of the room. "We'll get dressed and meet with Elias—decide if we ought to hold a meeting with the full council?"

With a sigh, he tugged on a fresh pair of shorts. "That sounds about right."

Ignoring the way his eyes raked her bare back, she fled for her own quarters to dress and returned within ten minutes to find him clad in charcoal trousers and a black oxford, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Staring at her, he reached for her hand, and they departed for the Nocturnus wing.

Nearing the central kitchens, Hermione halted, startled to see Ben and Elias Bergen heading their way, their expressions grim. With a sigh, she caught Malfoy's eye, and he offered only a grimace.

"Lunae Ortus," Ben said, brandishing a coiled scroll. "You have received this letter—and it set off every one of our protective filters."

Lifting a brow, he looked between the two newcomers. "Have you read it?"

"No," Bergen responded, adjusting his wire-framed glasses. "We wanted to get your opinion on it—and it's protected, Lunae. With enchantments that we fear only you can access."

"What if it's imbued with something?" Hermione asked with a flash of concern. Malfoy's hand tightened around hers. "Can we view its contents without needing to handle it?"

"Glenneth has enchanted it with protective spells of his own," Bergen reasoned. "If something is to happen, the spells will be instantly counteracted."

The four of them looked between one another and the scroll, and indecision warred within Hermione.

Finally Malfoy nodded, accepting the scroll. "Thank you." Staring at Bergen, then Ben, he said, "I will keep you both posted as to its contents."

The pair of them looked both uncertain and confused, but he turned on his heel and strode away with the letter; Hermione followed along to keep up, glancing back. "Why not open it with everyone in case something goes wrong?"

"Because," he said quietly, leading her towards the kitchen where they settled at the breakfast table. "Someone took painstaking efforts to make sure this letter finds me and that no one else can open it. Why else would it set off every protective protocol in the owlery?"

"Because it's full of dark magic?" Hermione asked, her tone dripping with sarcastic disdain.

Malfoy looked at her, a banal smile pulling across his face. "Very nice—I'm rubbing off on you."

Choosing not to respond, she merely gestured to the scroll. "Go ahead, then."

Carefully, he released the thin ribbon tying the scroll shut, and when he unfurled the roll, nothing happened. His lips twitched. "See? Someone knew this letter would find me as a priority."

Dropping her face into her palm, heart racing in her chest, Hermione muttered, "Your logic is faulty."

But he was already reading, his eyes racing back and forth across the page as his expression grew increasingly severe. He stared at it for a long moment before handing it to her.

_Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor,_

_Do not go back to France._

_I have information for you—and an offer. Meet me at this location tonight at twenty-three hundred hours._

_For the sake of many lives, come alone._

A London address she didn't recognise was written below the copy; the letter wasn't signed.

"A trap," she whispered, handing him back the scroll. Her stomach rolled and twisted with an unpleasant premonition. "There's no way this is a good thing."

"Someone knew we were thinking of returning to France," he only said, pocketing the scroll. Cautious grey eyes found hers. "Information—what if it's something we need to know?"

Sighing, Hermione sharply shook her head once. "No. This is—you're sounding like a Gryffindor. This is too dangerous."

Holding her gaze, he forced a swallow. "I can't ask you to come with me—"

"Don't be silly," she huffed. "There's no way I'm letting you go alone."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello! Thank you for reading! This was one of my favourite chapters to write so I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear your thoughts. And the game is afoot :D

Love and light to my wonderful team, Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	28. Chapter 28

A pale moon hung high in the cloudless sky when they snuck out of Malfoy Manor. Hermione could only describe their actions as sneaking, given they hadn't told anyone where they were going or, in fact, that they were leaving at all.

It occurred to her that she was putting an inordinate level of trust in Draco Malfoy—but at that point there was little else she could do. He seemed to think, through some sort of instinct—whether or not it was misguided was yet to be determined—that the sender of the letter wasn't interested in harming them.

The wording of the letter had been bizarre and vague, to be certain, but Hermione didn't share in his hope. Ironically, she considered the fact that it was usually the other way around, and Malfoy was often the skeptic.

Her heart clenched tightly in her chest at the thought that he might be wrong. If it was a trap, they would simply never return, and no one would know where they had gone or why.

A shudder crept down her spine at the thought, and Malfoy cast her a glance, his eyes bright against the darkness of the night sky. The address in the letter had led them to a forested Muggle park near the outskirts of London, and the street looked otherwise deserted.

"Are you still sure about this?" she whispered, scarcely allowing herself to take a breath.

"No," he returned, expression hard. Cracking his wrist, he flexed his fingers, and they sparkled with a hint of lunar magic. "But if something goes wrong, we can't hesitate. Get out and Apparate back into the Manor wards, whether or not I'm with you."

The vast swelling of nerves in her system pushed for an argument, but she clenched her jaw and remained silent. After a belated pause, she hissed, "We give it ten minutes—if no one shows, we leave."

"Deal."

The park was lit only by dim street lamps that cast the paved pathway into a dull yellow hue. Towards the forested area, the lights abruptly ended, and Malfoy drew her hand into his as he led her towards the treeline.

A single bench marked the end of the pathway, and Hermione came to a dead stop as Malfoy's hand clenched hers at the sight of a lone hooded figure that looked decidedly masculine. The hood cast his face into deep shadow, and Hermione couldn't tell whether it was someone they knew until he stood, cleared his throat, and drew the hood back from his face.

Malfoy stared, expressionless, even as a tight breath hitched in her throat.

Standing before them was Claude Arcand.

He looked at each of them in turn then around the darkness of the green space before casting a revealing spell.

Beside her, Malfoy's upper lip curled into a sneer. "You said alone. We're alone."

"We do not have much time," Arcand said in accented but crisp English. Hermione was reminded of the fact that he refused to speak anything other than French when they had met with him in Paris. "You must listen closely because I will not repeat myself."

Casting Malfoy a glance, Hermione shifted on her feet, but his face remained inscrutable. The only indication he had even heard Arcand speak was the tightening of the skin around his eyes.

"You are planning to go to France," Arcand carried on, nonplussed. "You seek to remove me as French Minister of Magic."

"A reasonable assumption," Malfoy said, raising a brow. "Why do you say so?"

"Because I know so," Arcand hissed, and it was then that Hermione noticed his hands were shaking. He cast another furtive glance behind them, and back into the forests. "Your moves have been tracked for longer than you know. Cosette has spies everywhere."

When Hermione released a sound of incredulity, Arcand's frantic stare snapped to her. "So what are you doing talking to us?"

"As I said in my letter, I have an offer for you."

Chewing on his tongue for a moment, Malfoy only stared at the man. "Why should we trust anything you have to say? You're Avance; you're in Cosette's bloody pocket—"

"I need your help," Arcand interrupted, and a thick, tense silence fell among the three of them. Clearing his throat, he added a sharp, "I am _not_ Avance."

With another uncharitable sneer, Malfoy drawled, "Could have fooled me."

But Hermione's head fell to the side. "What does Cosette have on you? Why have you carried on her plans for so long?"

"It was not meant to go on this long," Arcand said, tugging at the collar of his shirt beneath his hooded cloak. "A few small favours, as it began. Cosette had helped me in my bid for the French Ministry, and when she asked, I could hardly say no; it all sounded harmless at the time—but I would take it back if I could."

Malfoy folded his arms. "Answer her question."

Genuine fear flashed in Arcand's eyes through the dim yellow light. "I will resign my position in the Ministry—I will even ensure the candidate of your choice is my successor, and you will have no more trouble from me. But please…" His voice choked off, expression searching. "Cosette has my family. My wife and daughter—please help me get them back."

Surprise chased through Hermione, and she met Malfoy's stare. Wordlessly, he gaped for a moment before shaking his head and snapping his mouth shut. "She has your family—where?"

"I do not know," Arcand moaned, burying his face in his hands for a moment. When he lifted it once more, he sucked in a long breath. "They are alive; that is all that I know. But as long as Cosette has my family, she has control over me."

"And control of the French Ministry," Hermione inferred. Arcand gave a miserable nod.

"I did not realise the extent of the situation when you visited Paris," he explained, gesturing with a hand that now quaked with a nervous tremble. "And of course, at the French Ministry I am not safe to speak freely. Even when I met with your British Minister—I did not know if he was a man I could trust."

"So," Malfoy said, sweeping a hand along the back of his neck, "we help you find your family… you walk away?"

"As long as we are protected," Arcand said with a thick swallow, "yes. I will be no more trouble to you—my family and I will go far away. And…" His expression darkened, jaw clenched. "I will do what I can, before I go, to ensure Avance has no more hold in my country."

Frowning, Hermione asked, "How are we meant to find your wife and daughter if you have no idea where they are? In France or otherwise?"

"I do not know," Arcand said, squaring his jaw. "It is my hope your Nocturnus networks are deep enough and influential enough. Your man Bergen—he has discovered many things."

Hermione shared another glance with Malfoy, jarred at the depth of Arcand's knowledge about the inner workings of the Nocturnus Order. They would have to inform Bergen his movements were being noted. Turning back to the man, she demanded, "How has Cosette been breaching our wards? How are they following us?"

"That I do not know," he returned with a quick shake of the head. "Cosette treats me as a puppet for her own means, but does not tell me of her larger plans." With a glance down at his wrist, he gulped. "I must leave—if my Portkey returns and I am not there, this will all be for naught. I will be in touch as soon as I can, and I will follow through on my word if you are able to help me."

Malfoy stared at him for another long moment in the silence of the night, clenching his hand briefly into a fist, before he offered a single, sharp nod. "I will see what we can do about locating your family. In exchange, you _will_ secure the candidate of Nocturnus' choice atop the French Ministry, and we will never again hear from you."

Arcand only breathed, "Oui. Yes."

Finally Malfoy extended his hand, and Arcand gave it a firm shake. With a nod to each of them, Arcand reached into his cloak and vanished.

Releasing a tightly held breath, Hermione glanced at Malfoy. "Well then."

She received a grimace in return.

* * *

By the time they returned to Malfoy Manor, it was nearly midnight, but Draco's mind was abuzz, and he knew sleep would not come readily. To his surprise, he found Bergen and Dagomir conversing in the kitchens over a cup of tea when he ducked his head in.

"Lunae!" Bergen exclaimed, his teacup clattering against its saucer. "We have not heard from you—what was in the letter you received?"

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Draco looked between them and said, "Summon the council for a meeting in fifteen minutes. We have a plan of action."

Then he made for the Council room, Granger at his side. Shaking her head as they walked at a brisk pace, she mused, "I can hardly believe it."

"Neither can I," Draco admitted, clenching and unclenching his fists as nervous energy coursed through him. "Or can I? At this point it seems as if there are few things Cosette isn't willing to do to reach her own aims. Maybe it makes sense after all, that Arcand was never at the helm of anything."

"If he was only ever her mouthpiece."

Within minutes, Glenneth and Oro arrived in the council room, the latter with his hair in wild disarray but a roll of parchment and a quill clenched in his hands. Dagomir and Elias took up their seats moments later, and just as Draco was about to call the meeting to order, Hugo arrived, looking both unkempt and disgruntled.

Draco fired him a look, and Hugo's expression fell blank. Idly, he wondered what they had drawn Hugo from and found the smallest twist of pleasure at the thought.

With the expectant stares of the council upon them, Draco and Granger explained the occurrences of the day, starting with the ambiguous contents of the letter—strategically designed to catch his attention—and concluding with their bizarre meeting with Claude Arcand in a Muggle park.

"So he wants us to find his family… and he'll fuck off?" Hugo drawled with a flippant wave. Bergen hissed at his profanity, but Hugo looked nonplussed. Perhaps he had been drinking or otherwise indulging.

Draco's lip curled at the thought, but he nodded all the same with a quick, "That's about the long and short of it." Turning to face Bergen, he added, "Cosette has been tracking your movements. So if we're going to pull this off without drawing Avance's attention, we're going to need to figure out a different plan of action."

Bergen flinched and shook his head. After a moment's consideration, he said, "I will have some of my team see what they can find. Hugo will meet with our contacts in my stead."

Although he didn't care for that idea, especially since Elias Bergen was the one who had continuously proven his worth and the validity of his contacts, Draco couldn't see another way around the situation. If Cosette and Avance caught wind that they were looking for Arcand's family, it wouldn't be good. For the Nocturnus Order or for Arcand's family. And despite the trouble the man caused them, Draco couldn't help a twinge of sympathy. He knew all too well the desperation that came from acting to save one's family. Arcand's wife and daughter were likely as complicit in the situation as Granger was.

"Fine," Draco said, conferring in a quick glance with Granger. She offered a brief nod. "Hugo—you'll take the lead on this investigation. But I hope I don't need to emphasise the need for discretion on something of this importance."

Hugo's expression sobered, and he clasped his hands on the table, exchanging a look with his father. "Yes, Lunae. I will do everything in my power to maintain the secrecy of this mission."

Clearing her throat, Granger spoke to the room at large. "Preempting everything goes well in recovering Arcand's wife and daughter, he will ensure our candidate of choice takes his position atop the French Ministry." Turning to Bergen, she continued, "Do we have anyone inside who could reasonably fill the role without it being a stretch?"

"We do." Shuffling his papers, Bergen turned to the council. "Several, in fact. A long-time seat in the Wizengamot who could feasibly be conferred a popular vote when a proper election is held; a higher-up in the French Department of Law Enforcement; and a Department Head in International Cooperation."

"Fine," Draco said, bouncing between the options in his head. "I don't think it matters so long as it's not Avance running things. So the best option would be one that's actually suited for the Minister role after the disruption from Arcand's resignation—someone with the political clout to reverse all of Avance's policies. The fewer waves we make with this entire situation, the better."

There was a quiet murmur of assent, and Granger glanced his way again. Bergen jotted a few notes on a sheet of parchment. "The other good thing about the situation," she began, quietly, "is that if Arcand is willing to step down, we won't need to incite the resistance in France after all."

"Right." Staring around the table, Draco forced a thick swallow. "The Ministry will be off our banner carriers' case in France as well. Honestly, this is a good turn of events for once." With a careful but significant glance towards Hugo, he added, "So I don't think I need to mention how this will need to be our number one priority."

Squaring his jaw, Hugo murmured, "Noted, Lunae."

Turning to Elias, Draco said, "I will leave the decision on our candidate to you—but we'll need a name in advance of Arcand's resignation."

Bergen offered a crisp nod and set his quill on the table. "It shall be done."

"Very well." Thinning his lips, he nodded to the council. "That is everything for tonight—thank you for your expedient attention to this. We will meet again in a few days. Hugo, please keep me updated on your progress with the advisers."

He supposed if the role would be Hugo's one day, Draco would need to learn to trust the young man in the same way as he trusted his father. Only it was a matter of more responsibility than he would have liked to give Hugo in leading his first task—he could only hope Hugo wouldn't fuck it up.

For the first time since the council had formed, Hugo was taking frantic notes. He glanced back up again, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. "Very well. I appreciate the opportunity and will keep you informed."

"Good." Clapping his hands together, Draco rose to his feet, and the rest of the council followed. With a half-hearted grin, he departed with a muted, "Have a good night, everyone," Granger at his side.

By the time they returned to their private quarters, it was past one o'clock in the morning; when he dropped into bed, planting a sleepy kiss to Granger's mouth, it was only moments before he drifted to sleep.

* * *

Draco blinked awake, silently flinching when he saw Podski staring at him from far too close. Flashing a toothy grin, the elf quipped, "Oh good, Master Draco is awake."

Rubbing at his eyes, Draco rolled onto his back. Granger had already risen, and he could hear the distant sounds of a shower running in her old quarters adjacent to his—_theirs_, since she had more or less been spending every night in his bed and only returned to her quarters to bathe and dress. "Now I am," he grumbled, voice slurred with sleep. "What is it, Podski?"

"Mistress Narcissa has requested Master Draco and Mistress Hermione join her for lunch in the gardens," Podski exclaimed, his voice squeaking. "She insists, sir."

Rolling his eyes, Draco rose from bed in just his shorts, idly glancing at the clock on the far wall. "We will meet her at noon."

"Very well!" With a sharp crack, Podski vanished.

Sweeping a hand through his disheveled hair, Draco made for his own shower when a thought struck him. A smirk dragged his lips upwards as he ventured into Granger's quarters instead, dropping his pants as he crossed the threshold into her bathroom.

Through the fogged glass, he could just make out the lines of her back, and he stepped into the large walk-in shower, dragging her back against his chest as the scalding water seared across his skin.

Granger released a quiet yelp of surprise, her eyes wide as they snapped around to find his. Her lips pursed even as they twitched with a smile. Turning to face him, she murmured, "Good morning."

Eyes lidded, he swept the length of her with a leading stare. "Indeed." Draco palmed the curve of her arse, tracing the line of her jaw with his nose before taking her earlobe between his teeth, the hot water flowing over them both. "We're to meet my mother for lunch at noon."

"Okay." Dragging her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze dropped to his burgeoning awareness of her nudity with a smile. "How good of you to bring the message in person."

Backing her into the tiled wall of the shower, tendrils of steam chasing up between them, Draco lifted one of her legs, hoisting it around his hip. With a sharp hitch in her breath, she took him in her hand and guided him towards her opening without preamble, her eyes fluttering shut when he slid inside.

Growling lowly at the sensation, he slammed up into her with a teasing, "You know I aim to please."

* * *

Narcissa was waiting for them by the time they arrived in the gardens, and Draco approached with caution, knowing his mother was likely to be upset with him. Podski had already prepared a spread of finger sandwiches and tea, and Draco drew Granger's seat for her, slipping into the next chair and selecting a few items.

With an idle sip of her tea, Narcissa flashed a tight smile. "Hermione, dear, it's lovely to see you. And Draco."

"And you." Beaming, Granger filled a small plate of her own, offering Podski a gracious nod when he eagerly deposited a cup of tea in front of her. "The gardens are looking lovely."

Chewing a bite, Draco flashed her a look.

"Indeed." His mother's displeasure with him was written in the tension of her shoulders even as she took another nonchalant sip of tea. "Plenty of time to work in the gardens, you understand." He fought the urge to roll his eyes when his mother's blue stare swivelled to land on his. "Especially when my only son opted to leave home on his birthday and did not return for dinner."

Sighing, he took a long sip of ice water. Granger's eyes snapped to him as well, and he felt implicitly outnumbered. But what startled Draco the most was the hint of hurt in her chocolate gaze. Her voice was soft, a furrow in her brow. "I didn't know it was your birthday."

"I don't care to make a big deal of it—-which my mother knows." Turning back towards Narcissa, he added, "Hermione and I went to the fair in Chippenham, and we had a lovely day."

Something like recognition flickered in her stare, and Granger's expression softened with a bit of a smile. "That was your birthday?"

"It was." Tugging her hand into his, he gave it a brief squeeze. "And it was the best I could have asked for." They were in polite company, otherwise he would have brought up the way she'd had sex with him outside in the rain to cap it off.

But given the dusting of pink on her cheekbones, she had already made the connection.

His mother released a begrudging sigh even as her lips twitched with a smile upon observing them. "Very well, then. I suppose I'm not the only woman in Draco's life anymore, am I? I confess it isn't something I've had to deal with very often."

Before Granger could say anything, Draco murmured, "You are not—but you _will _always be my mother, and I apologise we didn't make it for dinner."

Proffering a small wrapped package, his mother clasped her hands together as her smile widened into something genuine. "I _am_ glad you didn't spend the day holed up in that council room trying to solve too many problems."

"As am I," Granger exclaimed with a sharp nod. "And had I known, I would have—"

"It's fine." Draco cut her off, giving her hand another brief squeeze. "I wanted to spend the day with you and I did."

Emotion flickered once more across her face, and swallowing, he glanced away. Slipping his fingers beneath the edge of the gift wrap on his mother's gift, he flashed them both a banal smile. Inside was a small felt box, and confusion lanced through him as he met his mother's stare, snapping open the lid.

Hesitant, Narcissa said, "Glenneth, your high mage, approached me after you all returned from Italy—he said there was a chance the item was lost altogether, but it was one of your great-grandfather Septimus' possessions when he was the last Lunae Ortus. It took me some time to find it in the Malfoy vaults."

With a skip in his heart, Draco slid a handsome silver ring from the box, observing the fine detail in the metal. A crescent moon shimmered on the face of it, stars carved from sapphire embedded on either side. An unexpected swell of emotion sat heavy on his chest.

"He told me…" Narcissa continued, as Draco handed the ring to Granger for her perusal. "I didn't understand the specifics of course, but Glenneth said it will help you to hone and control your new powers."

At his side, Granger sucked in a tight breath and handed him back the heavy ring. Gazing at it for a long moment, feeling the significant weight of it in his palm and his soul, Draco offered his mother a nod. "Thank you—this means a lot."

Slipping the ring onto the middle finger of his marked hand, Draco felt a frisson of power chase the length of his arm, his fingertips pulsing with the magic within them. Adrenaline raced through his veins at the feel of it, pushing once more towards the crescent on his wrist and through the veins of his palm. With a twist of his wrist, white magic burst forth from his fingertips, dancing and hovering in the air before him.

His mother watched as the magic dissipated, emotion clear on her face as she stared between the two of them. "Happy birthday, Draco." Dabbing at her eyes with a serviette, she smiled. "I know what you're doing hasn't been easy, but I'm proud of you both."

It was rare to hear such an expression from his mother, and Draco clenched his jaw, reaching for her hand across the table.

Lost for words, he only nodded.

He had done all of this to keep his mother away from the dark forces that had once plagued her life. And now, with lunar magic pulsing through his veins, he was more convicted than ever.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey friends! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Nocturnus. It's my birthday so I'm updating both of my WIPs today (because I can :P) if anyone's following Beyond and Again. Thanks so much for reading!

Alpha and beta squad love to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight!


	29. Chapter 29

As she broached the threshold of the sitting room, Hermione's head snapped up, startled, at a low drawl.

"Where have you been all day?" Draco asked, idly flipping the page of a book—one of the old ones they'd recovered from the Alba hideout.

Freezing, she stared at him, her breath a little quick. "Oh, just here and there. Had some owls to send, some Floo calls to make."

"I see."

There was a casual flippancy in his tone that set her nerves on edge.

Gaze darting down to her wristwatch, she settled into the seat beside him on the couch, aware of his stare tracking her movements.

"I only ask," he went on, "because Podski claims you've spent most of the day in the parlour. And you rarely go to the parlour."

Selecting her words with caution, Hermione stared at him. "I have been there as well."

"Fascinating." The word was stretched out, each syllable drawn twice as long as he returned to his book, peering closer at a hand-drawn depiction of something. "I hope it was a productive day, then."

"It was," she allowed with a curt nod. Worrying her lower lip for a long moment, she sunk into the sofa. "What are you doing tonight?"

With the same idle, nonchalant tone, he drawled, "I have a feeling you're about to tell me." Marking his page with a long ribbon, he closed the book. "And I have a terrible feeling this has something to do with the fact that I didn't tell you it was my birthday the other day."

Huffing a breath, she narrowed her eyes in his direction. He was so Slytherin to the core she would never be able to get one up on him. "I still can't believe you didn't tell me. And it isn't as if I paid much attention to when your birthday was when we were at Hogwarts."

"I didn't tell you, Hermione," he began, and the quiet caress of her given name chased a shiver down her spine, "because I didn't want to make a big deal of it. Ever since the war I've not cared to. And spending the day with you at the fair was all I could have asked for."

Hermione was certain there was a deeper sentiment behind the words, and a soft edge of it showed in his eyes. She pulled his hand into her lap, lacing their fingers. "It isn't anything big. I promise. Just a few friends."

"A few friends," he echoed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "A few friends I can handle."

* * *

At half eight in the evening, the first guests—Blaise and Theo—arrived via the Floo in the parlour. Hermione had spent most of the day preparing with Podski, and the elf had outdone himself even by his usual standards with a spread of hors d'oeuvres.

While Draco rose to greet his mates with a crooked grin, the three of them digging into a bottle of the finest reserve whiskey that he had insisted upon after she told him about the party, Harry and Daphne arrived. The latter rushed to greet her former schoolmates, and Harry sidled up alongside Hermione, gazing around.

"Nice place," he mused, staring at the vaulted ceiling. "Sure makes Grimmauld look like a heap."

Nudging him in the side, Hermione said, "Too easy to get lost, if you ask me." When he cracked a grin, helping himself to a drink, she added, "Thank you for coming."

"Of course." With a solemn nod, he began piling a plate with Podski's finest, popping a bite into his mouth whole. Once he'd swallowed, he went on. "I figure you throwing a birthday party for the git must be a good sign. Should have seen the look on Ron's face when he asked what we were doing tonight."

"It is a good sign," she mused, folding her arms across her front as she caught Draco's eye across the room; genuine warmth sparkled back at her. "And I didn't invite Ron… I wasn't sure of his stance on all of this—and you have been more accepting."

Shrugging, Harry conceded, "He doesn't understand it—why you needed to get involved so badly. Even more so, he can't see you and Malfoy together." After a long moment of tense silence between them, he added, "I think I'm starting to, though. To see it—between the two of you. And I never could have predicted that."

Touched, Hermione felt her eyes prickle with heat. All she could manage was a soft, "Thanks, Harry. It's all caught me off guard as well, if I'm honest."

Harry gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "As long as he's treating you well."

"He is." The words were emphatic and without hesitation. "Absolutely."

With a sharp nod, he slipped his hands into his pockets. "Maybe sometimes it's the things we least expect in life."

Feeling the sentiment implicitly in her soul, she offered him a smile.

A few others Flooed in, distracting the group—Hermione had asked Theo about any former classmates or other acquaintances with whom Draco still kept in touch—and from across the room, he turned to her with a raised brow.

Amusement on his face, Draco mouthed, "a few?" and Hermione managed a self-deprecating shrug. She had been sure to pass all of their names to Ben in advance so they could be approved to enter the Manor.

Several minutes later, Draco appeared at her side, shaking Harry's hand before slinging an arm around her shoulders and planting a kiss to her cheek. "You," he murmured, cracking a grin, "have outdone yourself."

"I thought you didn't want a party."

"I didn't," he said, rolling his eyes, "_but…_" When he met her stare again, his eyes were soft. "This is lovely. Thank you."

Butterflies tossed in her stomach at the declaration, and Hermione found herself drawn from his gaze when Harry shifted awkwardly at her side. Withdrawing his arm, Draco dropped a hand to the small of her back instead before turning towards Harry. "I watched a bit of the Puddlemere match at Falmouth the other day."

When Harry grumbled, making a face, Hermione grinned at Draco's effort to connect with her best friend.

Scratching the back of his neck, Harry muttered, "They didn't play their best."

"No." Draco snickered in return. "They didn't." With a glance around the room, he said, "I'm surprised Hugo didn't invite himself along. It's not like him to pass up a party."

"I did invite him and Madeline," Hermione intoned, and at the shift in conversation, Harry idly drifted away to where Daphne still stood in conversation with several of her old housemates. "He said they would come by, so I'm not sure why they haven't."

His brows knit for a moment in consideration as he took a sip of his whiskey. "I'm sure he'll show up fashionably late or something. That sounds very Hugo." Lacing his fingers with hers, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Let's get something to eat."

* * *

A few hours into the party, the guests readily enjoying themselves, Draco slipped onto the balcony attached to the parlour for some fresh air. His lips twitched when Hermione snuck up behind him, wrapping her arms around his midsection.

"Hi," she breathed into his back as he threaded his fingers with hers. "Needed some air?"

Nodding, Draco found himself gazing down at the grounds. From the north side of the Manor, they could see the many tents still dotting the darkness below. Most of the Nocturnus members had been coming and going for work and other commitments, but some had stayed on the grounds the entire time. Releasing a sigh, he turned towards her, dragging her into his side.

"Thank you for tonight," he said, fidgeting absently with a curl fallen loose of her hairdo.

Pushing up on her toes, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips before drawing back to peer over the balustrade. "You're welcome. I thought with everything going on… it would be nice to have a distraction."

Uncertainty lanced through him at the thought because they still hadn't heard anything from Hugo—and he had still yet to appear at the party. But even as the thought passed Draco's mind, he heard the click of the door behind him and reached for his wand on instinct. But he relaxed upon seeing it was only Hugo, and he watched warily as the man warded and silenced the balcony before joining them along the edge.

"You made it," Hermione said softly, glancing inside. Following her gaze, Draco could see Madeline and Cynthia conversing with Daphne and Potter.

It was only then, in the dim lighting of the balcony, that Draco noticed how ill Hugo looked; his hair was disheveled, dark circles beneath his eyes as he clasped his hands together and offered them a tight nod.

Falling serious in an instant, Draco mused, "You've found something?"

"Yes." Hugo clenched his jaw, staring between them. "I've been in meetings and warded Floo calls. I think we've found the location of Arcand's wife and daughter."

"How secure are your contacts?" Draco asked, leaning over the balustrade to stare out upon the grounds once more.

Taking up the spot beside him, Hugo's voice was quiet. "I met them in Italy—contacts of my father. A small but long-standing underground organisation of Alba defectors in Florence. They hate Alba almost as much as we do—and their networks run deep throughout Italy."

"So Italy then," Granger said, leaning her hip against the rail as she gazed between them. "His family is in Italy."

With a slow nod, Hugo grimaced. "Looks that way."

"Does your father have a name?" Letting out a long breath, Draco turned his head to face Hugo.

"Francois Laurent. An established member of the Wizengamot and favoured in the French community."

"Very well." Puzzling through his thoughts, Draco tapped an anxious rhythm on the flat stone of the balustrade. "I hope Laurent is ready to become the interim Minister."

"He is Nocturnus, Lunae," Hugo said absently. "He will do as you ask."

Turning to lean back against the rail, Draco eyed first Hugo and then Granger, folding his arms. "And… does your father know what you've learned? About Arcand's family?" It was a sensitive subject—but if Elias Bergen was being tracked, there was no way of knowing whether his information was also being compromised.

"He does not," Hugo clipped, and something flashed in his eyes that was reminiscent of caution. "He was… disgruntled that he could not help. I have avoided the standard channels and have informed my father of nothing in this investigation. I have not told any one member of the advising team of all the details—and none know of the location I've been stakes are too high for Avance to learn of what we know, if information is being leaked from within our networks."

"Then we need to push forward," Granger said, hesitation in her tone. "We leave for Italy—_soon_—and we take a skeleton crew."

"A stealthy extraction," Hugo agreed.

"Tomorrow." With a quick draw of breath, Draco nodded. "We need to reach Arcand _tonight_ and get the wheels in motion for Laurent to take his place—and we need Arcand safely out of France before we go in for his family."

Quietly, Hugo breathed, "I will look after that." When Draco exchanged a quick glance with Hermione, the man stood taller. "I swear to you that you can trust me."

"You've done well, Hugo," Hermione said with a bit of an affirming nod. "Please be sure you use the private Floo channels so no one becomes aware of our connection with Arcand. And let us know when everything is sorted."

"The contingency plan for Arcand's removal is already prepared," Hugo explained. "His family will be delivered to a safe house on the continent of which I am Secret Keeper—and soon the pair of you as well. When I give word to Arcand, he will do his part with the French Ministry to ensure his successor is our man—and then he will Portkey to the safe house."

"Fine," Draco said, mind churning with thoughts. Most pressing of all was the niggling doubt surrounding the level of trust he was offering Hugo with the situation. The entire precarious tide of matters with Avance hung on the edge of a knife. "Hugo, I swear to fucking Merlin—"

"I know, Lunae," Hugo said, a hint of humour tugging at his lips. "I wouldn't trust me either if I were you. Maybe one day, I will earn your trust."

Clapping a hand to the man's shoulder, Draco said quietly, "Maybe this will be that day. Merlin knows I'm stuck with you the rest of my life."

Hugo flashed a crooked grin. "It sounds as if I have more work yet to do before the night concludes. I will keep you informed once I have heard from Arcand and be ready to go at your word tomorrow."

But Draco only gazed down once more at the sparse tents on the grounds below, and he squinted in the darkness. Legions of people—thousands of Nocturnus—ready to go at his command. "Do we send them home?"

Following his stare, Hugo swept a hand through his hair. "It sends one of two messages: we think we are safe or that we don't want to make waves—that we're backing down."

"They know we won't back down." Granger shook her head minutely, staring between them. "A show of confidence. It could give Avance a false sense of security if we send our armies away."

"While our route is a quiet one, through a back door in Italy," Draco mused.

Hugo agreed with a single, sharp nod. "I believe it's a good play, Lunae."

An unpleasant feeling had nestled in the pit of Draco's stomach when he thought of how many people were residing on the Manor grounds. Ever since the day they had held court and an Avance operative had infiltrated the grounds.

"Let's do it, then."

"Consider it done, Lunae." Adjusting his tie, Hugo announced, "I will make the preparations for tomorrow with Arcand."

"We'll talk to Ben," Hermione said, worrying her lower lip. "Have him assemble a small team. But the fewer people who know about this, the better, yeah?"

"Yeah," Draco muttered. Hugo murmured his assent. "Good. Then we're all on the same page."

The three of them glanced inside, where the guests were still mingling and reveling, oblivious, and shared a brief grimace. Granger was the one to break the silence when she breathed, "Looks like the party's over."

* * *

It was only half four when Draco rose from bed, dressing silently as he rubbed at bleary eyes, stifling a yawn. They had barely managed a few hours of sleep, but Granger was alert and swift when she met him in the sitting room several minutes later, dressed and prepared to go.

A quiet knock sounded on the door into the hallway and when Granger swung it open silently, Hugo trailed inside, followed by Ben and four other guards.

It was only once the door was sealed, the vast array of wards activated, that Draco spoke. "Hugo, give me some good news please."

"Arcand is prepared," Hugo said, his eyes bloodshot and hair more ruffled than it had been several hours earlier when they had departed with the skeleton of a plan formed between the three of them. Draco wondered if he had slept at all. "He has a Portkey that will also act as a Protean Charm—and activate when the time comes." Brandishing a small box, he added, "This Portkey will do likewise when we find his wife and daughter."

"Good," Draco said with a nod, before turning to the most senior of the guards. "Ben?"

Folding his arms across his chest, the burly guard announced, "Dagomir will announce the removal of the Nocturnus Order from Malfoy Manor at first light. With any luck, the internal movements of thousands of Nocturnus will draw the eyes of Avance to England."

"While we move in Italy," Granger said, her tone a sharp clip. Her hair was pulled into a severe knot on top of her head, focus flashing in her eyes. "And what's the plan for Arcand's family?"

"According to my contact," Hugo ventured, "they are protected under moderate security—Avance guards, mostly. We have the element of surprise—none but the eight of us even know this is happening today. It is _paramount_ we get in with as much stealth as we can manage—silent stunners and the like. I have a map of the location—but it may be outdated and incomplete so we will need to keep a sharp eye."

Discomfort churned in Draco's gut, remembering the traps they'd come across at the Alba stronghold the last time they went to Italy—when they had lost a loyal member of the guard. From the looks on the rest of his company's faces, they were recalling the same.

Drawing a yellowed roll of parchment from his pocket, Hugo laid it out on the coffee table and made seven copies, distributing them to everyone. He tapped on his own copy with his wand. "Arcand's wife and daughter will be somewhere in this region. It might be wise to split into two groups in order to have our best shot at finding them with haste. We will communicate via Patronus."

Sucking his teeth for a moment, Draco managed a nod as Granger's fingers laced in his. He had never learned to conjure a Patronus—didn't know whether he would be able to if he tried. Gruffly, he muttered as he tucked his copy of the map into a rucksack, "That all sounds good."

Dropping his own bag on the table, Hugo drew out a balled up silk handkerchief, gently unwrapping the bundle to reveal two small rusted spoons. "Our trip to the castle in Tuscany—from there it's a short Apparition trip to the holding location. If anything goes wrong, we meet back at the castle. It's warded so heavily Avance will have no easy way in, even if they manage to track us."

Swallowing in an attempt to push back the nausea churning in earnest, Draco rolled his shoulders. Although the plan sounded straightforward enough, and there were eight of them, he couldn't help a feeling of dread curdling in his stomach. "Good work, Hugo."

With a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Hugo activated each of the Portkeys in turn. "On your command, Lunae."

Exchanging a hesitant glance with Granger, Draco tightened his stare and turned to the rest of their group. With a huff of a breath, he squared his shoulders and announced, "Let's do this."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey everyone, thanks for continuing to stick with this story. Your support means more than I can say. I'm so happy I've sown such deep distrust of these characters in so many of you and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. XD

Alpha and beta hugs and squishes to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	30. Chapter 30

The high walls were as she remembered them when the small group landed outside of Nocturnus Castle, but unease crept along her spine as Hermione stared up at the massive spires. There was no sense making themselves at home—not when they had a mission. The rising sun was just breaking the horizon, casting the world in tinges of orange and gold, the sky itself a faded lavender.

It might have stolen Hermione's breath if she weren't so fixated on what they were there to do. Her fingers grazed her copy of Hugo's map where the small scroll sat in her pocket, and with a grimace, she met Draco's stare.

"We have five guards," Hugo announced, jumping straight into business, "and three will stay with the Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor."

Catching a tight breath, Hermione felt only relief that she wouldn't be pulled from Draco's side—especially not after having seen the look on his face when Hugo announced they would be communicating via Patronus. It was a touchy subject, one she hadn't wanted to bring up while everything was new and tentative between them—especially with everything else that had been going on—but she could only surmise he didn't know how to produce one.

Most Death Eaters couldn't, or so she had been told. But Snape had been able to.

Hermione had faith Draco could learn, too. But it was neither the time nor the place to broach the subject. Not when his jaw was clenched so hard it could cut ice, his eyes darting rapidly around them as he nodded at Hugo's words.

"The other two will come with me, then," Hugo finished, trailing off when no one spoke. He jammed his hands into his pockets, looking uneasy. Despite that the mission was a relatively simple one, they didn't know exactly what they would be coming up against, and their last foray into an Alba fortress hadn't gone particularly well.

"That leaves groups of three and five," Hermione interjected into the quiet tension among the group. "Hardly seems balanced."

"Balance doesn't matter," Ben said gruffly as he drew his wand into a meaty fist.

Draco stared at Hugo for a long moment, his eyes tight. "We have the affiliation as well. Hugo, take three guards." For a fleeting instant, Hermione thought she could see veiled concern in his face, and despite herself and the situation, her lips twitched.

Releasing a long breath, Hugo's eyes darted up towards his hairline in a facsimile of an eyeroll—presumably as close as he would dare. A spasm of worry settled into her stomach; he looked exhausted. "Lunae, your life and that of the Lunae Amor are the most important things at stake here. More so than even the rescue of Arcand's wife and daughter."

Folding his arms, Ben gave a resolute nod. "Three of us will accompany you, Lunae."

Finally, Draco caved with a sharp nod, but he still scowled at Hugo. "Don't you dare put yourself into danger."

"Never," Hugo breathed with a hint of mocking in his tone, and Draco's lips tugged with a smirk. But then Hugo clapped his hands, and idly, Hermione wondered at how easily he had taken command of the operation. Perhaps forcing Hugo to take ownership in the matter had been good for him. "Are we set, then?"

Three of their guard cadre stepped alongside Hermione while the remaining two sidled towards Hugo as he drew his map, pointing out the location into which they would Apparate. It appeared to lead towards two entrances along the side of the building where his contact had suggested Arcand's family would be kept.

Steeling herself with a slow inhale, Hermione nodded, drawing her wand into her hand. Beside her, Draco's knuckles were white, clenched around his own. The fingertips of his marked hand shimmered with the affiliation. He ground out a low, "Yes."

A low murmur of assent spread through the group, and Draco pulled Hermione tightly into his side; before she could react, her feet left the ground in a spin of Apparition.

* * *

When they landed at the designated location outside of the fort, Draco released Hermione, adjusting his hold on his wand as he took a silent headcount of the group. Amidst hushed tension, he caught Hugo's eye, and with a brief nod, the two groups split up, wands held aloft and a copy of the map floating along ahead of them.

Hermione kept close to his side, her shoulder brushing his every so often, eyes trained ahead of them.

Ben and another guard whose name Draco didn't know offhand kept to their flanks and just ahead, with Vlad holding the rear. Before Draco even realised they weren't alone, the guard to his right had dispatched two guards dressed in deep gold robes with silent stunners.

"If anything goes wrong," Ben cautioned out of the corner of his mouth, "you Disapparate. Immediately."

At his side, Granger cast a nonverbal spell, and in the distance, another guard slumped to the ground. His eyes slid to meet hers, and she offered a half-hearted smile.

His fingers tingled with the lunar affiliation as if it were pushing to make itself known, to fly free and wreak havoc. The very atmosphere of the Alba fortress felt wrong in Draco's soul as they approached the imposing stone walls. It was more modern than the one he had accidentally destroyed the last time they were in Italy, but this one was clearly functional. A quick _Homenum Revelio_ alerted him to the fact that there were dozens of people inside—Draco could only hope they weren't all guards.

As they walked, Draco noticed Granger tapping the tips of her fingers against her thumb, one after another in rapid succession. With each tap, a dull burst of white light flared from the point of contact, and despite himself, his eyes widened in surprise.

With a quick glance around them, he whispered, "Have you been practicing?"

"It's easier when I'm near you," she returned in a quiet voice. They were close to the fortress now, and Draco's eyes tightened with caution as they followed along in the guards' steps, close along the wall of the citadel. "I can't make the magic do much of anything, but I can summon it at least."

He offered a nod and a reassuring smile. "Keep working on it—I think you'll get it. Merlin knows I might need you to save me one day."

A soft laugh broke from her lips, the sound of it sloughing away some of the tension wracking his entire body.

Ben froze, lifting a hand as he lowered his chin. "The entrance is here," he murmured, cross referencing his copy of the map. The second guard crept towards the door, casting a flurry of unlocking and unwarding spells with such rapidity that even Granger looked awed. Presumably he was a spell-breaking specialist, and it made sense why Draco hadn't seen him in the usual guard rotation. Vlad kept resolutely at their backs, observing the path from which they had come.

There was no longer any movement in the vicinity; all of the Alba guards in the immediate area had been stunned, and it might have felt too easy if not for the fact that Alba hadn't been expecting an ambush.

"Here," Ben said, jabbing a finger into the map in reference to the point where Hugo suggested they might find Arcand's family. Tracing a circle, he added, "They could be in any of these rooms—and this bloody fortress is a maze."

"We also don't know in what manner they're being kept," Hermione contributed, drawing her lip between her teeth. "My initial thought was that Cosette had them holed up in a cell somewhere—but what if they aren't? What if there are others around? We need to take extra care that we know exactly who we're alerting to our presence."

"A good point," Draco said gruffly, sweeping a hand through his hair. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he willed his heart to slow in vain. "Ultimately, our plan remains the same. Get in. Locate Arcand's family. Give them the Portkeys. _And get the hell out_."

There was a general murmur of assent as the second guard broke through the final layer of spellwork on the heavy iron door, and it pushed open with a screech that caused them all to wince.

Silently, Ben swiped his hand forward, and the group fell back into formation as they proceeded into a dim corridor that appeared to be some sort of hidden side entrance lit by flickering torches. The walls were made of rough-hewn stone that rounded towards the ceiling as if carved from the very rock with which they were composed. The floor was little more than packed earth, but Draco could feel an ominous air of magic around him that fought with his own core.

He could tell by the look on Granger's face she could feel it prodding at her magic as well. The tapping of her fingers intensified, the gentle flares of magic more noticeable in the darkness of the passageway. Idly, Draco closed his hand around her fingers to subdue the light—to hide the indication that she was learning control of the lunar affiliation as well.

"Just in case," he whispered, and her jaw clenched as her throat bobbed with a swallow.

It wasn't often Draco saw Granger anxious or fearful, and it only served to intensify his own worry.

The passageway was empty as they walked, devoid of any movement save for the flickering of torches as their advance pushed forth a slight breeze. Draco wasn't sure what he was expecting—whether he would have rather run into Alba operatives—but the eerie silence tugged at something in the back of his mind.

Pulling his own map from his pocket, he squinted at it in the dim lighting, Granger peering down at his side. Her voice was quiet with a bit of a tremble. "We're about to breach that chamber."

Nodding, Draco tapped the page with his wand. "Hugo's team would have taken this entrance."

Ben and the second guard froze as they reached the end of the tunnel, wands aloft as they cast several spells on the door and the room ahead. Meeting Granger's eye, Draco nodded towards the second guard, and mouthed, '_Name_?'

A ghost of humour traced her lips, and she breathed into his ear, "Boris." The feel of her warm breath on his skin released a chain of gooseflesh down Draco's throat, and he forced a nod.

In a quiet series of events, Boris threw open the door, and with a few quick casts of his wand, two Alba guards slumped to the ground. An exhale chased from Draco's lungs as he stepped through into a circular chamber with vaulted ceilings, and the affiliation physically stung at the tips of his fingers as he gazed down upon the unconscious men. The group of them cast a series of muffling and disillusionment charms before proceeding.

If there was any lingering doubt as to the situation, leaving an Alba stronghold full of unconscious guards would certainly send a message. Not to mention the seizure of two prisoners that Draco was hoping to Merlin they'd be able to pull off.

The chamber was sparsely furnished like some sort of entrance hall, and an elaborate stairwell climbed at the far side, entirely at odds with the dank passageway they'd entered through.

But no other people remained in the room, and the feeling of unease within his soul pushed him to keep moving forward.

"We need to take this corridor to the right," Granger intoned quietly as they advanced through the open space.

The corridor to the right led through a series of small rooms that were largely empty aside from some outdated kitchen and cleaning equipment. The only relief in the situation was that Draco suspected if Alba knew of their presence, people would swarm them from every angle. Furthermore, beyond the external rooms, there hadn't been any wards in the fortress proper.

Granger directed them down a stairwell once more lit only with the flickering yellow light of torches. Glancing at the map, Draco nodded. "This is around where Hugo suggested Arcand's wife and daughter might be held."

As the group descended carefully below ground, they emerged into what looked like a vast cellar. Dusty bottles of wine lined racks along one entire wall, while oak barrels stood in even rows across half of the room. Storage shelves filled with dry goods occupied the rest of the room; squinting, he could barely make out an open doorway at the opposite end.

Skirting along one wall, so as to keep their presence as minimal as possible, they made for the door.

Suddenly Ben hissed, grabbing hold of Draco's wrist and dragging him to the ground behind a row of barrels as Boris likewise took hold of Granger. Draco met Vlad's intense stare as the third guard crouched down in front of them. Distant voices rumbled into the room from the staircase, and Draco found himself drawing shallow breaths.

"We can't leave," he breathed, as quietly as he could manage. "Not until we find Arcand's family."

Ben didn't respond but for a tightening of his gaze.

The group of them remained, concealed only by a row of whisky casks, eyes wide and alert. Draco's heart pounded with such voracity he felt almost certain the _thud-thud-thud_ of it would give them away. Two voices—a man and a woman speaking Italian—breached the threshold of the room, and Draco found himself clenching his marked hand into a fist, his wand hanging loose in the other hand.

His great-grandfather's ring that his mother had given him for his birthday glowed with a faint shimmer, as if channeling the pent-up flow of the affiliation. At his side, Granger's shoulder against his grounded him, and he drew in a long breath.

Each of the three guards held their wands with practiced surety, their postures stoic and stares focused.

The man and woman lingered for longer than Draco could stomach, and he heard the clinking of several thick glass bottles before they retreated, the voices growing quiet once more as they returned via the way they had come.

Releasing a tight breath, he dragged a hand down his face.

Boris rose to cautious feet, bent at the knees as he observed the room before offering a nod. In a gruff, accented tone, he muttered, "Clear."

Draco's knees creaked as he rose from an awkward crouch, but Granger didn't follow, her gaze fixed on a point beyond the next row of kegs. She held up a tense hand, her eyes wide and unblinking. She whispered, "Not clear."

When Draco followed her gaze, a huff chased from his throat.

A pair of dark eyes blinked back at him from behind the keg at the end of the row, pale blonde waves curling around a young girl's face. She couldn't have been older than thirteen or fourteen, and Draco found himself frozen. Their guards looked equally uncomfortable, clearly uncertain about the idea of stunning a young girl.

But Granger whispered, "What's your name?"

Chewing on her bottom lip, the girl assessed the group of them with a shrewd stare. Finally she sighed and said with a French twinge, "You look like you aren't supposed to be down here." Her lips twitched with mischief, and she added, "My name is Meila Arcand."

"Thank Merlin," Draco huffed in surprise. "You're Claude Arcand's daughter." The girl offered a hesitant nod, her eyes brightening. "Where is your mother?"

Venturing out from behind her keg as if the mention of her father had assured her of their trustworthiness, she crept towards them. "She works in the kitchens." Her head canted to the side, in the direction of the door at the far end of the dim cellar. "That way. They keep us separate most of the time."

The guards exchanged a look and a nod and fell back into formation. But Meila spoke again. "I wouldn't go that way if I were you. The guards keep hidden passageways—they can appear at a moment's notice. And they aren't very nice."

Meila Arcand reminded him of a young Hermione Granger, right down to the curls, and he caught Granger's eye; her eyes tightened even as she fought a smile. Ducking down to Meila's level, she said, "Do you know where the passageways are?"

Making a face, Meila rubbed the back of her neck. "Some of them—but not all. I tried to explore them once, but the guards caught me." At her grimace, Draco's blood boiled in an instant.

Clearing his throat, he looked around. "We can't linger. Meila, we have a Portkey for you and your mother—to get back to your father. Is that okay?"

The girl's eyes brightened but then dimmed almost as quickly. "You won't be able to find my mother without alerting the guards."

A chill crept down Draco's spine when, only moments later, an iridescent white fox leapt into the room, careening to an awkward stop in front of them. Hugo's hushed voice emanated from within it.

"We found Arcand's wife—sent her to the safe house. His daughter is elsewhere. Be careful. There are many guards in this section."

A harsh breath of relief chased from Draco's lungs. The wife had already been extracted—and they had Arcand's daughter right here. Fumbling in his bag, he scrounged for the Portkey. The sooner they could evacuate Meila to the safe house, the sooner they could get out of this grungy fortress.

Ben and Vlad stood guard while Boris stepped forward to activate the Portkey with a few quick spells. Draco found himself captivated watching the man perform magic, the way it so naturally poured forth from his wand. But then the Portkey glowed blue, and Draco turned to the girl. "Your mother will be there already—and maybe your father as well. We'll come to check on you soon, okay?"

"Okay," Meila whispered with a conspiratorial grin. "Thank you!"

It was a good thing the girl was so readily trusting of anyone who clearly wasn't Alba, but Draco didn't have time to linger on it when another white fox tore through the room, barrelling straight through the kegs. Hugo's voice no longer carried the caution of moments ago—this time it was fear.

"_Get out now. _Our presence here is compromised. Ben, get them out!"

Granger sucked in a quick breath, and Draco felt the blood drain from his face as he gaped soundlessly at Ben. The group of them dropped to the floor again.

With a squeak, Meila clapped her hand to her mouth. Granger urged, "You need to go." Nodding while still covering her mouth, the girl grabbed hold of the Portkey and was gone.

"Fuck," Draco huffed, running a hand through his hair. "How do we reach Hugo when anyone will see a Patronus?"

"It won't matter," Ben said, confliction flashing in his face. "If Hugo's words are true, his location has already been sacrificed. If he sent his Patronus to warn us—it will have been seen."

"No," Granger whispered, horror tinging her tone. "No, they'll get out."

"_We_ need to get out," Boris huffed. "Because anyone who saw that Patronus come this way will be here any moment."

Fear churned and escalated in the pit of Draco's stomach. He thought of Hugo and the pair of guards, of the panic in Hugo's voice. The way the young man had almost begrudgingly stepped into a spot of ultimate responsibility at Draco's side, and he muttered, "No. We need to check in. Granger, send a Patronus."

"You must not," Vlad hissed, ducking up to observe the door at the far end of the cellar. "It will lead them right to us, and we do not know how many guards there are."

"We have accomplished our mission." Ben swallowed, his voice gruff. "Hugo and his guards will Disapparate from their location. There is nothing more we can do here."

Sucking in a steadying breath, Draco met Granger's stare. His voice was soft, almost pleading. "What do we do?"

There was a slight tremble to her mouth as she forced her lips into a thin line, glancing at the guards. "We have to go. The others will do the same."

"Hugo's the only Secret Keeper of the safe house."

The words rang through the tense silence; in the distance Draco could hear shouting and the pounding of heavy footfalls. He couldn't tell which direction they came from and surmised it to be both.

Ben muttered, his words thick, "Then we'd better hope he gets out of here alive."

His hand coiled around Draco's wrist as Boris took hold of Granger's arm, and before Draco could protest, the guards spun as one into Apparition.

Nothing happened.

"Fuck," Boris huffed, shaking his head. "They've raised Anti-Disapparition wards."

Sucking in a breath, Granger clutched Draco's hand with an iron grip, her magic prickling against his own. "What now?"

With a grimace, Vlad tightened his hold on his wand. "We fight."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hiiii hello I love you thanks for reading! I love hearing your theories :D /runs away/

Alpha and beta squad hugs to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	31. Chapter 31

Tension hung thick between the five of them as they crouched, frozen, in the wine cellar of the Alba fortress in which they were intruding. Draco's knuckles were white where they were clenched around his wand, and the fingers of his other hand pulsed and shone with the trapped magic of the lunar affiliation.

Silver swirls trailed down the length of his middle finger between his great-grandfather's ring, from the tips of his fingers to the lifelines on his palm.

Next to him, Granger released a quick exhale, her stare momentarily fixated on the magic pushing to break free. It took all of Draco's focus to keep the affiliation contained, knowing Alba was aware of their presence and rapidly on their trail.

"We move fast," Ben muttered under his breath, his words quick. "Don't hesitate—and something tells me they will cast to kill if given the chance."

Swallowing the thick lump in his throat, Draco squeezed Granger's hand, feeling the prickle of her magic bolstering his own.

It had been naive to think there would be no casualties in this war, especially when the first life had already been lost the last time they had visited Italy.

Vlad looked green as his gaze flickered to the door at the far end of the cellar—the door from which Hugo's Patronus had bounded—and Draco could hear numerous voices now, at least half a dozen or more, shouting in Italian with no consideration for stealth.

Which meant their small group was about to be outnumbered and likely overpowered.

At first, it had sounded like there were voices encroaching from both sides, but the concentration was coming from the far end, and he blew out a long, rattling breath, searching out the reassuring warmth of Hermione's stare.

"We need to get back to the entrance we came through," he hissed to the group, even as he didn't look away from her. "We're sitting ducks down here, and they know this place better than we do. We need time."

Following his line of thought, Granger's stare flickered from his to the opposite wall.

Magic shimmered and built, emanating from his hand and coursing through his veins. Ben gaped, staring down at Draco's open palm, before offering a brief hint of a nod. Rising to his feet, he ground out, "Do it—and we run."

Voices were just beyond the far door now, rapid footfalls slamming on the other side of it, and before Draco could think any further on the situation, he twisted his wrist into the air, his eyes fluttering shut as the magic of the moon poured from his hand, chasing forth as a ball of virulent power towards the far wall and colliding with the doorway.

The magic triggered a cacophonous roar.

Draco leapt to his feet, not sticking around to witness as the wall around the doorway collapsed into a heap of rubble, the magic shimmering around the doorway and creating a barrier to seal the door shut. Loud exclamations issued from the other side, and all he could hear was the sounds of glass bottles smashing to the floor as the magic absorbed and destroyed everything on the far side of the cellar in a blinding glow of white.

But they were gone, wands held aloft as they broke into a full on sprint up the stairway from which they had come.

"Cast your Patronus," Draco growled, and Granger nodded, her chest heaving with the effort of each breath as she scrambled up the stairs alongside him and back into the room with the old kitchen equipment. "Tell Hugo where we're going." Impressively, she released her fluttery white otter without stopping, giving Hugo a brief explanation without giving up their exact destination—presumably in case her Patronus was intercepted or overheard by Alba.

Jets of light flew back as Vlad cast a series of spells, but Draco didn't stop to see whether any of them made their mark.

Returning jets of red, yellow, and violet flew by, ricocheting off the walls as they barrelled on, and Ben fell back to join Vlad's barrage while Boris lead on. Draco could feel the heat of a spell whiz between him and Granger, just narrowly missing his ear, and he cussed, flailing a hand wildly backwards and releasing a beam of glowing magic between the guards.

With a grimace, he met Granger's stare, but his lips twitched as he heard the collision of magic on stone once more.

Ben huffed a laugh behind them, and though Draco didn't turn to look, he surmised it to be a good sign, coupled with several loud disgruntled shouts.

Releasing a great, emanating wave of scarlet magic, Boris led them back into the circular chamber—and through the far side, Draco could see the grungy side door that led to the stone passage they'd used to break into the fortress. They were close—but behind him he could hear the Alba guards gaining on them again.

Heart racing in his chest, Draco ran, firing blows of lunar magic over his shoulder towards the shouting voices. He did his best not to dwell on the fact that Hugo and his guards had yet to respond to Granger's Patronus, and he could only hope they were unable to reveal themselves. Or perhaps they had already escaped the fortress and made it beyond the Anti-Disapparition wards.

The mission had already gone awry, and Draco couldn't handle the thought that they might not all make it back out. Not with the way Alba were steadily gaining on them.

But Boris grabbed hold of the door and they were into the passageway; the man lingered behind to cast a few hasty wards on the door to buy them time before his footfalls sounded heavy behind them once more, Ben slipping seamlessly into the front as they grew steadily closer.

He didn't know how far out the Anti-Disapparition wards would extend, but they broke through onto the grounds, and Draco could still feel the bristle of magic across his own. The sun was well on its way into the sky now, and he could see along the edge of the fortress to the point where they had Apparated in.

"Close, Lunae," Ben huffed, his voice breathy and fatigued. "As soon as we break the wards—"

"Hugo!" Granger gasped at his side.

Draco froze, following her stare; relief flooded through him as he noticed Hugo leaning against the edge of the stone wall, fear flashing in his eyes. "Hugo," he said, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Thank Merlin, we were—"

"Lunae, get out of here," Hugo said, eyes darting rapidly. "Run."

"No," Draco scoffed, reaching for the man, but a frisson of fear chased up his spine as he came up against an invisible wall separating him from that segment of the fortress. "Hugo, what the fuck?"

Blowing out a long breath, Hugo clenched his jaw, his eyes pressing shut. "Ben—go _now_."

A new, sharp voice intruded into the moment. A woman's voice. "No one is going anywhere."

Draco's eyes narrowed of their own accord as a woman walked around the corner from behind Hugo, and the young man swallowed as the tip of her wand pressed into the skin beneath his jaw. She wore all black with gold embroidery, and pin-straight black hair fell to a stern shear at her shoulders. Her eyes were so dark as to swallow up the light around her. Cruel malice played upon her lips as she pressed her wand deeper into Hugo's throat. He only thinned his lips, his face tight.

A breath hitched in Granger's throat as Boris, Vlad, and Ben took up a formation around them, their wands ready.

But Draco held up a hand, staying their advance. "Release him—Cosette."

A slow, menacing smile spread across the woman's face. "Commendable," she drawled, "that you've learned as much as you have already."

He couldn't tell whether her English was intoned with French or Italian lilts and surmised it to be a twangy mixture of the two. The endless chasm of the affiliation pulsed and twinged in his hand. Holding Hugo's stare, Draco idly toed at the invisible wall, measuring the curve of it.

Dragging his stare back to Cosette, he smirked. "Perhaps you shouldn't be surprised that I'm not stupid."

"Could have fooled me," Cosette snapped, the smile dropping from her face. "Given you walked right in here today."

Either she was testing him or she didn't yet realise her captives had been released; Draco didn't know the status of the situation in France yet, so it was likely the latter. It meant they had an edge—if they could escape before the truth of their intrusion was discovered.

He trailed his fingertips along the small of Granger's back, allowing his magic to play along the edges of hers. Turning back to Cosette, he lifted a brow. "I suggest you release him."

Cosette canted her head to the side. "I don't think I will. Because I would like to find out, you see—how much does Draco Malfoy value Hugo Bergen?"

The guards hissed, their expressions stoic and wands level, at the affront. Draco didn't respond.

But Cosette carried on, adjusting her grip on her wand. "Your treasurer, isn't he? Seems dispensable—if not for the fact that he's the son of your chief adviser. See, Draco Malfoy, I've done my research as well. Long before you even entered the picture."

At his side, Granger leaned back closer into his palm on her back, her silent stare fixed on Cosette. He flexed his palm, making his best effort at reassurance as he dragged his toe along the ground, nudging the wall.

Draco drawled, "And I know all about that as well, of course. How you orchestrated this entire thing to draw me into the seat of Lunae Ortus—to release the lunar affiliation so you could steal it."

"Nocturnus stole it in the first place," Cosette hissed, the first break in her irreverent facade. "You don't _deserve_ it."

Releasing a breath, Draco rolled his eyes. "For argument's sake, let's say I don't. And what do you hope to accomplish by killing my treasurer?"

Hugo's green stare snapped to his. Jaw clenched, the man only mouthed, '_Get out_.'

When Ben shifted uneasily at Draco's other side, drawing Cosette's eye, he dipped the hand on Granger's back lower, grazing the curve of her arse, before snaking along to her other side.

Cosette shrugged. "One less Nocturnus in the world makes it a good day for me. Although—it would be three, wouldn't it, Hugo?"

At the flash of sorrow in Hugo's eyes, Draco's heart sunk. He hadn't wanted to acknowledge the fact that Hugo was alone, without his pair of guards. The truth of it slammed him in the chest.

Granger shook her head, folding her arms as she spoke up for the first time. "If you were going to kill Hugo just for the sake of it, you'd have done so already. Are you trying to bargain or something?"

"The Lunae Amor," Cosette said, her tone full of mocking disdain. "We know all about you as well. The relationship between the two of you when you were in school—the way you nearly broke poor Draco's nose." Her lips curled cruelly again. "Brilliant as they say—I _am_ offering a bargain. And we will see what sort of a leader your precious Lunae Ortus really is."

Draco didn't like the sound of that, but he kept his gaze on Hugo's as he waved a dismissive hand. "Or you could just release Hugo and lift the wards, and we'll all walk away."

Cosette let out a cold laugh, and a shudder swept down Draco's spine at the tone of it. The woman gave him the utter creeps. But she only folded her arms, wand hanging idly in Hugo's direction. Some of the tension sunk from his shoulders. "I'll consider releasing Hugo if you tell me what it is you were after today."

Heaving a sigh, Granger rolled her eyes, leaning on one hip and idly toeing the ground; her foot grazed his. "We aren't telling you that."

"Fine," Cosette drawled, jabbing the point of her wand into Hugo's throat once more. "Then I'll spill his blood—and believe me, nothing would give me more pleasure. Unfortunate, though—he is quite pretty."

Hugo's lip curled as his eyes narrowed; Draco fought a snicker at the reaction.

Gaze flickering between Cosette and Draco, Hermione turned to face him, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. In a hushed voice, she muttered, "I mean, we didn't even find it, so…" He nodded, blinking evenly. Huffing, she announced, "An artefact. We heard there was an artefact here—but the source must have been outdated. All this hassle for a bunch of poor wine vintages."

"Poor vintages," Cosette exclaimed, nostrils flaring. "As if you thought you would simply waltz into our stronghold and seize _any_ artefacts. Perhaps you aren't so smart as they say."

Surrounding them, the guards stood at arms, silent and waiting. Draco met Ben's gaze briefly. "Perhaps we should just level this fortress after all."

Cosette released a cackle, throwing her head back, her wand jamming further into Hugo's neck and forcing his chin up as he swallowed thickly. "Draco Malfoy, you forget—I know everything about you. I know you're a _coward_."

He ground his teeth, staring blankly at her. The word lanced through him like a blade.

"Even with Hermione Granger at your side," Cosette jeered. "You'll never be a true leader, which is why it will be so easy to dismantle your organisation from within. Starting with dear Hugo here."

She lifted her wand, determination crossing her face, and several things happened at once. Granger cried out, reaching towards Hugo as Cosette initiated a twirl of her wand. The guards released a barrage of spells into the invisible wall but the magic melted away, absorbed into nothing. Cosette cracked a wide, mocking grin.

Seizing her distraction, Draco released his hold on Granger, giving a great flourish of his wrist towards the base of Cosette's protective wall where it met the grass. The strength of the affiliation eclipsed the wall, illuminating the area even with the sun rising in the sky. The white ball of power blinded the woman, and as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes, the protective wall collapsed down around her.

Releasing hold of Hugo, fear flashed through her eyes—and it was the last Draco saw before she Disapparated.

Silence fell across them, stark and tense.

Hugo dragged a hand across his neck where Cosette's wand tip had been jammed, and Draco noticed his fingers were trembling. Averting his gaze to allow the man a moment of privacy to pull himself together, he turned towards Ben, feeling his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.

"We'll need to collect—"

"There," Hugo choked, his voice hoarse, as he waved a hand around the corner of the wall where he still stood. "Lunae, I'm sor—"

"Don't you dare apologise," Draco snapped, scowling at the man. His expression softened with a grimace. "I thought you were dead."

"I couldn't," Hugo said, gaping as he watched Ben and Vlad disappear behind the building. "I couldn't save them. She had guards with her and—"

"Hugo," Hermione said, her voice quiet, eyes glassy with tears. "There was nothing you could have done. We need to get out of here."

It was only then that Draco noticed Hugo push away from the wall with a wince, and he gingerly set down one foot on the ground. He muttered, "Think my ankle is broken."

Boris strode past, levitating the bodies of the two fallen guards before him, his expression blank. Draco looked away, feeling a clenching in his chest, and turned to Granger. "We need to get past the edge of the wards and get back to the castle. Before Cosette comes back or sends another guard contingent after us."

"She's playing a long game," Hugo said, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Or trying to, anyways. I think she would have killed me, though."

Slinging an arm around Hugo's back, Draco muttered, "I know. And she's going to pay for it."

"Even if she thought I was cute." Hugo jabbed an elbow into his ribs as he leaned the bulk of his weight into Draco's hold, and Ben came up along the other other side. Hugo shook his head and ground out, "You should have left when I told you to."

Draco met Granger's gaze for a fleeting moment, and he watched a tear break from the corner of her eye before she hastily swiped it away. If they had left when Hugo's second Patronus had warned them, Hugo would have been left behind. And likely killed.

Releasing a long, steadying breath, Draco managed a tight, "Not a chance. We're a bloody team, yeah?"

Hugo huffed a laugh, the sound fading as a grimace flickered across his face when he put too much weight on his bad ankle. "Don't you fucking go soft on me now."

A short distance ahead, Boris Disapparated with the two fallen guards, and bittersweet relief chased through Draco when he felt the Anti-Disapparition wards ripple away.

Granger released a sort of sad chuckle and mused under her breath, "You two."

Shifting his hold on Hugo, Draco waited until Granger Disapparated with Vlad before turning to Ben. With a nod, he dragged Hugo into Apparition, and Ben landed at the castle shortly after. The pair of them helped Hugo into the castle and onto a sofa in the entry parlour, and Draco felt the welcome wash of their own wards against his magic. Ben announced something about retrieving a healer and vanished; Vlad lingered near the entrance of the room but out of earshot.

"So," Hugo prompted as he propped his ankle up on an ottoman. "Be honest—you only waited for me because I'm Secret Keeper of Arcand's safe house; and on that note, please tell me you found his daughter."

"We found his daughter," Hermione said, dropping to the edge of the ottoman as she leaned in. "If everything went better on _that_ front than it did on this one, the Arcands should be reunited."

"And we have control of the French Ministry," Draco added, a half-hearted grin spreading across his face. It had only been a few hours since they had gathered in his quarters in Malfoy Manor, but he was exhausted. Using the affiliation had taken a heavy toll, and he made a mental note to practice with it more. "Good thing Cosette didn't realise the truth of why we were there—I don't think she would have let us leave so easily if she knew we were doing a little dismantling of our own."

Hugo snorted, glancing away. "Not likely." But his expression sobered, and he looked each of them in the eye. "Thank you—for waiting for me."

Draco dragged a hand through his hair. "I think it was due, anyways, after the last time."

Eyes tightening, Hugo released a sigh. "We aren't keeping score, you know. You _should_ have left me to die."

"That," Draco breathed, "would have been unacceptable."

A fraught silence fell across them all once more, Granger idly twisting a curl in her fingers with a far off look to her.

"What will be unacceptable," Hugo finally said, "will be my father's reaction when he hears about this."

Huffing a laugh, Draco felt a grin cross his face as he shook his head. "My father's like that, too—but he's in prison. We'll deal with your father together."

Granger gave a watery laugh and tugged his hand into her lap. She only muttered again, "You two are ridiculous."

* * *

**Author's** **Note: **Hi friends, thanks so much for reading as always. I hope you're enjoying the story. Always happy to hear your thoughts and theories. And a very happy early Canada Day to my fellow Canadians!

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	32. Chapter 32

The council room was as tense as Hermione had ever witnessed, a pained, all-encompassing silence hanging over the Nocturnus council as Hermione, Draco, and Hugo finished regaling the rest of their experience in the Alba stronghold earlier that morning.

Merlin, it felt like it had been days ago. The action of the early morning, coupled with only a handful of hours of sleep the night before, weighed heavily on her mind with a tug at her eyelids. She still wasn't sure whether Hugo had slept at all.

In fact, he looked significantly worse than he had even that morning, and a twinge of remorse passed through her to recall that he had likely been witness to his guards' murders.

If Cosette hadn't recognised Hugo's value to the council—to the Lunae Ortus himself—Hermione couldn't help but wonder whether he might have faced the same fate. But instead, Cosette had used him as bait, drawing them towards her. Hermione wondered what might have happened if Draco hadn't thought fast in using the affiliation to break her invisible shield.

Snapping back to the present, she shared a quick glance with him as the silence lingered, painfully prolonged.

Finally Elias Bergen spoke, the tips of his fingers pressed into his temples as he rested his elbows on the table. "Let me get this straight: the three of you went to Italy _without telling anyone_, stormed an Alba fortress—which you knew nothing about—and caused irreparable havoc, including the loss of life of two Nocturnus guards."

Beside her, Draco bristled at Bergen's tone. Hugo swallowed, his skin tone a pale greenish. Folding his hands on the table, Draco said, "We regret the circumstances regarding the guards. We were caught unaware by Cosette's sudden arrival." His eyes flickered to Dagomir, who looked visibly distraught.

Bergen drew in a long breath. "It sounds as if you were unaware of most every aspect of this poorly contrived raid." He fired Hugo a scowl. "What possessed you to undertake such a dangerous mission without proper preparation? You completely disregarded protocol and put the lives of your Lunaes at risk—"

"With all due respect, _adviser,_" Draco cut in, an edge to his tone as Bergen fell silent. "Hugo did what was asked of him. And we nearly lost him today, through no fault of his own."

Clearing his throat, Hugo announced quietly, "It is my belief that someone within the advising team is not trustworthy. We could not inform too many people of our intentions in case the wrong ears heard of our plans."

Glenneth was the one to interrupt the simmering tension between the pair of Swedes. "This is a heavy accusation. Are you certain?"

"I am not." Sucking on his teeth, Hugo leaned back in his seat, resolutely avoiding looking at his father. "It is only probable, given certain events wherein private Nocturnus information has been leaked to Avance."

"Ultimately," Hermione breathed, cautious as every eye swivelled towards her, "though the mission did not go entirely as planned, we were able to extract Arcand's wife and daughter from the fortress, and they are securely away in a safe house."

Releasing an aggravated sigh, Bergen tapped an anxious rhythm on the table with his quill. Hermione sensed he was making his best efforts to compose himself, although Hugo remained shrunken in his seat, his shoulders low and the line of his jaw hard. Elias faced the table and announced, "Claude Arcand has absconded from the Minister's seat in France. Francois Laurent has stepped into the seat in a provisional capacity. An interim election will be planned."

Hugo's eyes flickered up to meet hers from across the table, and Hermione nodded. "This is good news. We must assume Arcand has joined his wife and daughter at the safe house."

Rubbing bleary eyes, Hugo muttered, a bit of a slur to his voice, "He has. There are three magical signatures residing in the safe house."

Irritation hovered once more at the edge of Bergen's words. "And where is this safe house?"

"I am currently the only Secret Keeper," Hugo said in a clipped tone that was remarkably similar to his father's. "I will reveal its location to the Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor at the earliest convenience."

Elias Bergen's expression tightened on his son once more, but he didn't say anything else.

"So," Draco said, breaking through the familial tension once more as he swept a hand along the back of his neck. "Today's mishaps in Italy notwithstanding—we have the French Ministry."

"As we speak," Dagomir announced, waving a hand, "Nocturnus guards are making their way to France in an effort to keep Francois Laurent safe from any and all possible acts of retribution from Avance. We will need to ensure Laurent is elected during the interim election if we want to keep Avance down."

Hermione looked around, chewing her bottom lip. "And Laurent will do his best to overturn Arcand's aggressive anti-creature policies?"

The man offered a curt nod.

Even if the situation with Avance was in shambles, they could still do their part to calm the churning political seas that had spread throughout France like a contagion. And there was no telling what sort of damage they had done that morning—especially with Draco revealing his control over the lunar affiliation to Cosette herself.

Dagomir stared for a long moment at Draco; beside her, the blond swallowed thickly and offered an almost imperceptible nod. The Head of the Guard frowned, scratching his thick beard. "Our actions in Italy and France today will leave no doubt. We have declared war on Avance, and unfortunately, the entirety of our Nocturnus forces has been sent back home. We now have only the Nocturnus guard to protect this manor."

"Cosette spoke like she's playing some sort of game of strategy," Hermione said, and Draco's elbow nudged against hers at her side. "She wants this drawn out—she wants to see us suffer."

Nodding, Draco added, "I don't think she will attack the manor outright. At least not right away. For all we know, she's biding her time, building her forces. What we _need_ is someone inside Avance."

Bergen considered the thought for a moment and shook his head. "That is what we do not have. Beyond speculation, we cannot say what Cosette is planning."

A resigned silence fell over the group again, and Hermione bristled at the thought that Avance had somehow infiltrated their organisation but they had not done the same in return.

Hugo shifted in his seat. "My contacts in Italy—"

Elias' sharp hiss cut him off, and Hugo rolled apathetic eyes in the direction of his father. "They are not your contacts." Crisply, Elias adjusted his tie, looking out upon the rest of the council. "It is my opinion that Hugo Bergen's actions last night and this morning were immature, reckless, and harmful to our greater cause. I would call a vote to see Hugo Bergen removed from this council, effective immediately."

"What?" Hugo exclaimed, eyes wide in surprise.

In the same moment, Draco snapped, "_No_. Everything Hugo did was a direct request." Turning narrowed eyes on Bergen, he added, "_You_ were the one who wanted Hugo to investigate the situation in your stead, given someone has been tracking your movements. Had we taken the time to address the council, Avance may have been tipped off and had time to move Arcand's family."

Shrinking back slightly, Bergen's nostrils flared. "Regardless, Lunae—costly mistakes were made. Perhaps it is simply the case that Hugo is not ready for this level of responsibility."

Draco sat back in his seat. "I disagree."

When Hermione glanced across the table, Hugo's jaw was clenched so hard she feared he might shatter his own teeth. Remembering how he had gone above and beyond to make sure everything was lined up for the extraction of Arcand's family, her heart clenched.

"As do I," she announced to the council. "There has been a prolonged concern with security in the inner circle, and Hugo went out of his way to keep his investigation below as many lines as possible to avoid the wrong people listening in."

A quiet murmur rose around the table, Glenneth and Dagomir speaking softly to one another as Oro paused, his face stricken and quill frozen in mid-air.

"Very well," Bergen said, pressing his hands into the table. "I believe Hugo's intentions were good—and some good has come from the situation, as far as the matter of France. However, this was the last chance of many, and at least for the time being, I do not believe he should continue sitting on this council. As per Nocturnus Order code, any council member may bring forth a vote, majority rule."

Hermione cast a hesitant stare sidelong towards Draco; with an outward grimace, his hand found hers below the table, entwining their fingers. Fear flashed in Hugo's face as he straightened in his seat, evidently lost for words.

It was cold, to think that Elias Bergen would throw his own son to the wolves—but from everything Hugo had ever told her, it was always Nocturnus first. Hugo _hadn't_ been an ideal candidate for the position, and it wasn't until recently he'd been taking his role seriously.

Tensions had been high since the meeting had been called to order, and it wasn't altogether surprising that emotions had boiled over.

Briefly, Hermione tried to consider what Bergen must have thought to hear his own son had nearly been murdered by Cosette. A flicker in his stare resembled something like fear or concern.

"Very well," Draco ground out through clenched teeth, his expression stoic but just barely concealing a scowl. "In the vote regarding the removal of Hugo Bergen's status as Treasurer of the Nocturnus Council—those in dissent."

Hermione lifted her hand, chin held high, relieved to see Draco do the same at her side. Hugo's hand was tense as he raised his own, mouth twisted to the side.

Bergen's hands remained resolutely planted on the table; Dagomir and Glenneth exchanged a look, and Oro stared down at the table.

With a slow shake of his head, and a long exhale out, Draco said quietly, "Those in favour."

Offering an apologetic grimace, Oro lifted his hand, along with Bergen, Glenneth, and a half-hearted Dagomir, his cheeks flushing.

"It is settled, then," Bergen said, leaning forward in his seat, his expression faltering for a moment. Draco blinked slowly and turned towards Hugo. "We will look to consider reinstating at a later date—for now, Hugo's position as treasurer will be filled by someone with more experience in these matters."

Gaping, a heavy furrow in his brow, Hugo stared at each member of the council in turn. Hermione thought his eyes looked glassy, and an unpleasant twist settled in her stomach. Then he rose to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping on the marble, and offered a stiff nod before pacing towards the door.

Draco huffed a curse under his breath, looking down at the table as he sucked in a deep breath. Then with a click of his tongue, he announced, "This meeting is adjourned."

Silence hung, thick and heavy, once more in the council room as he rose to his feet, adjusted his tie, and, with a quick glance in her direction, made for the door.

Frowning, Hermione stood as well. Thinning her lips, she said, "Hugo is more committed to this council and this Order than any of you realise—I implore you to reconsider. He may be young, and he may not always act it, but when it counts, he has been there for us."

Uncertainty flickered across Elias Bergen's face as he stared towards the door. But he turned back to her, offering a tight sort of smile and a brief bow of his head. "Lunae Amor."

The air was stifled as she turned on her heel and followed her husband from the room.

* * *

Draco drifted idly through the corridors of the Manor, hands shoved into his pockets. It was late—well past midnight, but he had been unable to properly sleep since the night before the party. Between everything that happened in Italy and the ill-fated council meeting that followed the evening prior, his mind had been left churning with thoughts that didn't make sense.

Making his way towards the kitchens, he allowed his mind to drift. Arcand was out of France, and Laurent was settling into the position instead—with great success, from everything Draco had heard. He wondered how furious Cosette had been when she learned of the depth of their intrusion in her stronghold.

While this maneuver dealt with some of the issues Avance presented in France, there remained the much deeper and more unsettling problems surrounding Cosette and her history with Alba.

Draco didn't know the extent of Avance's power lingering beyond their plays within the French Ministry—didn't know the truth of the situation in Italy. He rubbed a bleary hand at his eyes, intent on a pot of tea to help him sleep. There hadn't been a gathering of the council since Hugo had been less than ceremoniously relieved from his position, and Draco's mind still reeled over the matter so much that he didn't even know if a new treasurer had been appointed.

On many occasions, Draco himself had wondered whether Hugo was cut out for his position on the council or if he was too young and unfocused—but when it had mattered most, Hugo had stepped up to the challenge. He regretted the way he had often questioned Hugo's dedication.

Stopping short, Draco blinked several times when he saw Hugo already in the kitchens, nursing a ceramic cup himself. The man looked even worse than he had following their mission to Italy. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his bloodshot eyes; his skin was pale, hair and clothes rumpled. The irreverent sparkle to him that had seemed ubiquitous since they'd met was gone.

Hugo glanced up, expression blank as Draco drew out the seat across from him and slipped into it, summoning himself an empty cup with a wave of his hand and pouring himself a cuppa from the teapot at the centre of the table.

As he stirred in a splash of milk, Draco eyed the man, who had remained silent. Taking a cautious sip to test the temperature, he mused, "You look like shite."

"Yes, well." Setting his cup down, Hugo fiddled with the handle, gaze fixed resolutely away. "I suppose I feel like shite, so it's fitting." He gave a low, humourless snicker.

Summoning a plate of scones, Draco selected one with raspberry preserves and broke it in half. "Couldn't sleep either, I presume."

Hugo released a quick breath and shook his head. "Haven't really…" Pressing his lips into a thin line, he scrubbed at his eyes with his hands and looked back up, finally meeting Draco's stare. "I keep seeing their faces."

The two guards whose lives had been claimed by Cosette. Draco swallowed. "So you saw it happen, then."

"Yes. First time I've… you know."

Offering a bit of a stilted nod, Draco felt a clench of commiseration in his chest. He could still vividly recall the first time he had seen someone killed in cold blood. "It never leaves you."

"Right." Hugo nodded. "Good." Then he took another long sip of his tea, and by the way no steam emanated from the cup, Draco surmised he had been seated there for a long while. "I'll be out of your hair tomorrow. I'm going back to Stockholm."

Draco's head snapped up. "What? Why?"

Delicately, Hugo traced the pattern on his mug and said, "You heard the council. I'm unfit for my position. At least I can go home to Madeline and see her more often—that is, if she'll still have me, disgraced and dismissed without honour from the most important position I could have imagined."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco scoffed.

At last, the man's lips twitched. "It's what I do best—or haven't you noticed? You'll get a better treasurer, I've no doubt about that."

Cracking a bit of a wry grin, Draco muttered, "Anyone would be a better treasurer than you."

Hugo's lips thinned, but he didn't deny the fact.

"But," Draco went on, leaning forward in his seat, "I don't want a better treasurer. What happened in Italy wasn't your fault—and when you realise that, you'll stop replaying those guards' deaths in your mind. We made that plan together—and despite anything else that happened, we got Arcand's family out. We dealt a massive blow to Avance's influence in France. _You_ did that."

Shaking his head, Hugo released an exasperated sigh. "Promise me you'll be careful. I don't know the extent of it, and I don't know who, but I think someone in the Order is passing information."

"I know." Taking a long sip of his tea, Draco stared at the table. "I think it goes deeper than we initially thought. And you're one of the only people I know I can trust."

Silence hung between them for a long moment. At last, Hugo looked up, his eyes glassy as he swallowed. "Thank you, Lunae. That means a lot—all things considered."

"I trust you, too," a third voice intruded, and Granger settled ungracefully into the seat between them around the small circular table. Her lips curled into a hint of a smile and she added, "Looks like I found the party."

"Lunae Amor," Hugo murmured, brandishing his cup as if in salute. "Welcome to the 'unable-to-sleep-club'_._"

She helped herself to a cup and offered the pair of them a grimace as she stirred a spoonful of milk into her tea. "You can't leave, Hugo. Not now when we need you—forget the council."

"She's right," Draco said, nudging her foot beneath the table. "As always. Your value to us isn't in tracking the Order coffers. It's in trust—a far rarer commodity."

With a half-hearted smile, Hugo topped up his cup with fresh tea and added six cubes of sugar; Draco met Granger's wide eyes with a hint of a snicker. He could only imagine her parents—Muggle teeth-healers—wouldn't approve.

"Fine," Hugo said with a sigh as he took a sip. They both winced. "I can't deny either of your wishes, so I'll stay. There are already arrangements in place to remove me from my council quarters, though."

"Plenty of rooms," Granger said with a dismissive wave, glancing around the empty kitchen before leaning in, her eyes tentative as they met his. "Draco and I would keep you on in an unofficial capacity."

Chewing on his tongue, Draco nodded. "This is all uncharted territory. We don't know what comes next, and we don't know what Cosette has up her sleeve. Hell, we don't even know what sort of power and influence Avance really has and how far their reach goes with Alba. All I know is that we need everyone we can get, and if someone in the Order is spurning their Nocturnus oaths, I need to know."

As realisation dawned, a smile pulled at Hugo's lips. "You want me to find out."

"I want," Draco began, delicately as he took a sip of his tea, "for you to find out _everything_ you possibly can. And together we're going to bring Cosette down."

With a wave of her wand, Granger prepared a fresh pot of tea, leaning back in her seat. Gaze swinging between the two men, she mused, "It sounds like we're going to be here for a while."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading. It's a crazy world out there and it means so much that anyone is still making time for this little story. I so greatly appreciate your reviews and comments. I hope you're all keeping well.

Alpha and beta love as always to my wonderful team, Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	33. Chapter 33

Legs folded beneath her and eyes narrowed in concentration, Hermione watched as white flutters of magic chased from her fingertips, swelling and drifting along the lengths of her fingers. A faint light shimmered from her palm. With a sharp inhale, the magic quieted and settled into nothing.

Grinding her teeth together, she tried again, digging deeper into her core magic and willing her faint shreds of the affiliation forth.

The situation had very nearly gone south at the Alba stronghold the week before and Hermione was determined to do anything she could to help the cause—and after seeing the way Draco had used the affiliation to distract and confound Cosette, she had been practising in her spare cracks of time.

Tension in her shoulders, she forced the magic from her fingers, watching as tendrils rolled and twisted down towards her wrist, building into a denser ball of vaporous magic. With a huff of surprise, she watched as the lunar powers danced and leapt from her palm into the air, and with a curl of her wrist, it spun above her head, breaking into a thousand fibres like firecrackers bursting in the night.

"Very nice," a voice interrupted, and she snapped her head up in surprise. Draco took a seat beside her and she scowled. Lifting a brow, he folded his arms. "What?"

"I thought I'd done it on my own," she grumbled, releasing a sigh. "I can only handle the magic when you're nearby."

"I'll go, if you like," he mused idly, a teasing smirk lingering on his lips as he ducked in to press a kiss to her temple. "But for the record, I have every faith that you'll figure it out on your own, too."

Rubbing at her forehead, where a slight pressure headache was beginning to form, she relaxed into the bench. "No, I could use a break anyways."

Summoning the affiliation to his own palm with ease, he took her hand, passing her the magic, and she caught it within her hands, gazing at the white ball of pure power. Cracking a wry grin, he mused, "Or just a head start."

Fixing her focus once more, Hermione tested the magic, separating it and pulling it one way and the next. Gathering a portion of it in her marked hand, she gazed at a small garden statuette some distance away and released the Affiliation, watching as it collided in a cloud of dust and shattered plaster.

"Mother will have your head if you start damaging the garden," Draco said from her side as he watched, arms spread across the back of the bench and one ankle cocked casually across his other knee.

Distracted, she murmured, "I'll fix it." Eyes tight, she fired the second coil of magic, and they both watched as the pieces of the statue knitted back together with a white glow until there was no evidence it had been destroyed. A wide grin split his face as Hermione gaped in surprise.

Clapping her hands to the bench, Hermione recoiled with a sharp intake of breath at a stinging in her hand. A sliver of wood from the bench was caught in her palm, and she peered closer with a grimace.

Clicking his tongue, Draco muttered, "The place is falling into disrepair with all these people living here, I swear." Taking her hand into his, he plucked the sliver free between his fingernails, and a spot of blood formed where the skin had been broken. Idly, he grazed his fingers along her skin, and Hermione watched with growing astonishment as the pinprick of blood receded, the flesh reforming before her eyes. He hadn't looked away from her hand, and he froze, tension in his shoulders.

With a cautious breath, Hermione whispered, "Did you just—"

Questioning grey eyes snapped up to meet hers, and his throat bobbed with a swallow. "I think so."

White magic still shimmered on the tips of his fingers, and he stared closer, drawing her palm close to his face. He pursed his lips, releasing her hand, and Hermione swept her fingers across where the wound had been. There was nothing.

Silently, and deep in thought, Draco drew his wand and prodded it into the tip of his own finger; they both watched as blood welled from the point, a few drips coursing down the length of his finger before he covered it with his marked hand. When he withdrew moments later, the lines of his palm an iridescent silver, his finger showed no evidence of the injury.

His eyes found hers again, and Hermione's mind was fraught with the implications. "You can heal."

Swallowing, he corrected, "The affiliation can heal."

"Remarkable." Drawing in a long breath, she stared at his hand. "I wonder to what extent?"

For several minutes, he sat in silence, testing the capabilities of the magic by tracing shallow cuts, then deeper ones, into his wand hand and healing them with his marked hand. At last he choked, "Hermione… what does this mean?"

"We knew the affiliation had more power than simply destruction," she said quietly.

"And spell-breaking," he added, though he still looked at her from beneath a furrowed brow, rattled.

Thinning her lips, she offered a smile. "Add healing to the list, then."

But he only shook his head. "I need to know the extent of this." He rose to his feet, and when Hermione simply eyed him, confused, he added, "Come. We're going to the infirmary."

* * *

A pair of Nocturnus healers were tending to several injured guards when they arrived at the infirmary. One of the rooms that had popped up in the Nocturnus Wing once Draco had announced his Ascension, the Order usually kept a healer or two on duty in the event of illness or injuries among the Nocturnus.

And when he needed to escape to his lab, Draco brewed potions that could be beneficial to the healers.

One of the women clad in Nocturnus healing robes glanced up, startled, when they entered the room. Offering a bow, she stepped away from her patient and said sharply, "Lunae Ortus. Lunae Amor—is everything alright?"

Granger was quick to offer a nod as the other healer, a young male apprentice, rushed forward.

Clapping his hands together, Draco announced, "We aren't injured. We simply need to check something." He approached the nearest guard, whose leg was propped up, a collection of potions bottles at his bedside. "What's your name?"

Ducking his head into a deep nod, the guard glanced up. "Lennart Haraldsen, Lunae."

"Lennart." Draco gestured towards his wounded leg. "May I?"

The guard nodded, stiffening as he watched warily.

Maria, the chief healer on duty, said, "Lunae, what are you doing? This man has just broken his ankle."

Focusing on the power accumulating in his hand, always lingering just below the surface of the skin, Draco stepped forward. He caught Granger's eye and moistened his lips, heart racing in his chest as he turned back to the guard and pressed his shimmering palm gently across the front of the man's ankle. He could feel the magic shifting and flowing at the point of contact, and while the guard initially winced at the touch, his eyes widened moments later.

Draco could feel the visceral tension between Granger and the two healers, who stood nearby in a thick silence.

A prickle of moisture settled on his brow at the exertion—it was substantially more than healing a cut on his palm—but at last Draco withdrew, the magic fading to a soft tingle at the tips of his fingers.

The room still hung in a state of disbelief, and two other burly guards in hospital beds peered on with interest as Maria stepped forward, pressing her fingers to the guard's ankle. Then she cast a series of tests with her wand. With a sharp inhale, she turned back to Draco, incredulous.

Mouth open in surprise, Lennart twisted his ankle one way and the next. Gruffly, he said, "You've fixed it."

Granger's fingers laced with Draco's; he gave her hand a brief squeeze before turning towards the next bed, where the guard was staring blankly at Lennart's ankle. With a thick swallow, the man met Draco's stare and choked, "Lunae Ortus."

Stepping forward, he clapped a hand to the man's shoulder. "What is your ailment?"

The man's skin was pale, and he shone with a sheen of moisture. "I've spiked a high fever, Lunae. A residual effect of a training spell."

"It's common," Maria interjected, though her tone was mildly disapproving. "The way the guards have been training these days. They often come in with lingering spell damage or magical overexertion."

Draco nodded and lifted a hand to the man's warm brow, feeling the lunar magic flowing once more from his fingers for several stifled moments. When he drew away, the man's gaze was visibly clearer, his forehead cooler.

Shaking her head in astonishment, Maria performed a series of spells and once more determined the man free of his condition. Her voice was low with emotion. "I don't know what you're doing, Lunae, but an hour ago I would have declared this sort of healing impossible."

Pursing his lips, Draco stared at the woman. "It's powerful magic—nothing more or less than that."

Three other guards were in the infirmary, and he recognised all three, making brief conversation as he tended to their ailments. Lastly, he healed a man from the advising team with a shoulder injury, named Buckley, and by the time he was finished, Maria was watching on with folded arms and a smile curling her lips. "If I'm not careful, Lunae, I'll lose my job to you."

"Nonsense," Draco muttered, cracking a grin. He looked towards Granger, who had been rather quiet as she watched on, and she gave him a curious smile. Flexing his hand, he added, "This is merely another tool we can use."

_Against Avance_. The words hung, unspoken, in the air, but among a group of healers and guards, he knew the gravity wasn't overlooked.

Before they left the room, Draco turned to face the guards and healers, still eyeing him with a certain measure of disbelief. Softly, he said, "This isn't information I'd like to spread around the Order just yet."

A few of the guards exchanged a look, and he knew they understood the implication. Avance didn't know about the healing powers of the affiliation, and if someone inside the circle was passing information from the Order, he didn't want them to know.

They bid farewell to the group, lingering for a few more moments while the pair of healers began to discharge the recovered guards, and as they made their way through the corridors towards their quarters, he turned to Granger.

"Something else, isn't it?"

That same smile played about her lips, and she wore a sparkle in her eye. "It's incredible."

They had barely crossed the threshold into his sitting room, and as Draco closed the door behind him, she was on him, hands entwined in his hair and lips hard on his. Understanding her private smile from earlier, he grinned against her mouth, dragging her closer.

He made a mental note to discover obscure forms of powerful magic more often.

* * *

Later that afternoon, they came across Hugo in the small study in their wing of the Manor that served as an offshoot of the greater central library. A stack of books sat on the table before him, another open and blocking most of his face.

Draco palmed Granger's arse as he led her into the room and dropped into the seat at Hugo's right as Granger settled in across from them. Slowly, Hugo dropped his book, fixing each of them with a tight stare.

The young man had moved into a room in the wing after being displaced from his council quarters, and a new treasurer, a bland and nondescript man by the name of Tressel, had taken Hugo's place. Granger seemed to think it was infinitely amusing—Tressel the Treasurer.

"Hello, dearest Lunaes," Hugo said quietly, marking his page and setting the book down. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Granger smiled, that sparkle still lingering in her eye as she glanced briefly Draco's way. "We wanted to be sure you're settling in okay."

"Great, actually." A grin spread across Hugo's features. "This wing of the Manor is far less populated, and I find I'm able to get more done."

It was an understatement, given even Narcissa didn't live in the same wing. But Draco had been cautious not to position Hugo _too_ closely to him and Granger so they could still have their privacy.

"And I haven't run into my father—so there's that. I'm not certain he even knows I'm still here."

Frowning, Granger leaned forward in her seat. "He'll come around. Everyone's been on edge lately, and tempers have been flaring."

"And besides," Draco said with a vague wave, "you have more important work to do for us now. Which reminds me—have you been keeping tabs on the Arcands?"

Hugo offered a quick nod. "Absolutely. They've settled in nicely—I can imagine it's been an adjustment, but at least they're back together now. To my knowledge, Avance has no way of finding them, and I've ensured they only leave their house with glamours just to be safe." Glancing between them, he added, "Would you like to know the location?"

It was no light thing, for the Secret Keeper of a Fidelius to give up the information. But Draco nodded instantly. "Best we all know—just in case something happens."

He didn't need to elaborate the sentiment, based on the uneasy look Granger gave him. But she pressed her lips into a thin smile and said, "We should go see them. Let them know we haven't forgotten them."

"Good idea," Draco said with a nod.

* * *

Hermione blinked up at an array of Gothic and Baroque architecture as their Portkey landed. "Where are we?"

Adjusting his tie, Hugo strode from the narrow alley between two crumbling stone walls and led them forward. "We are in Vilnius, Lithuania."

Draco's lips twitched as he settled into stride alongside her, tugging her hand into his. "You sent the Arcands to Lithuania?"

"Technically," Hugo clarified, adjusting his tie, "they're in a small magical district near the edge of Vilnius. But we can't readily Portkey into the direct area around the safe house—we have a bit of a walk ahead of us. And Vilnius is the largest city in Lithuania. They'll be safe here with all the enchantments Glenneth taught me."

It was late afternoon in Vilnius, by the looks of it; the air was warm with a gentle breeze and Hermione gazed around, taking in the sights of the city as Hugo led them towards the safe house.

She could feel the shift in the air when they crossed the threshold into the magical district, and Hugo drew out his wand to guide him the rest of the way. At last he came to an abrupt stop, half an hour or so after they'd arrived, and squinted towards a decrepit looking shack with a notice plastered to the front door in what Hermione surmised to be Lithuanian.

"Condemned," Hugo explained, waving a hand. "I think that's what it says, anyways. I'm sorry to say Lithuanian is not one of the languages I speak well, although it is only across the sea from Sweden."

An amused look on his face, Draco snickered. "I can't imagine they speak Lithuanian either."

Unconcerned, Hugo replied, "They'll learn. And some in the district do speak English from my experiences. Not sure about French."

Hermione idly wondered whether Hugo had dropped the Arcands in a remote country where they wouldn't understand the native tongue as a tactical move or whether it was because Claude Arcand had made things miserable for them for so long.

Before she could say anything on the matter, Hugo added, "They're fine, by the way. They seem to like it here so far. Missus Arcand studied magical architecture, and she enjoys it." At the pair of skeptical glances he received, he stiffened. "What? I've been by to visit a few times. They aren't bad people."

Sighing, Hermione glanced at Draco. "I suppose you're right. Maybe Claude made some bad decisions early on, but he was only trying to protect his family. If we didn't believe they were good people, I don't imagine we'd be here."

"It's true," Draco offered, and peered towards the ruined shack again. "So this is it?"

"This is it."

Hermione took a few cautious steps forward, and Hugo added, "You can only approach because you're with me. There are very strong Confundus Charms in place whereby any unwelcome visitors would find themselves with an array of other things to do."

"Unwelcome visitors," she mused, peering at the crumbling front walk.

"Because they might make friends," Draco inferred.

Hugo nodded, even as his expression was pensive. "But if the _friends_ turn out to be Avance spies… they won't like the _other things_ they're suddenly called to do."

A shiver crept down Hermione's spine at the thought. But a shimmer of magic crossed her skin, and within moments, the destroyed wreck turned into a lovely house that suited the rest of the street.

Striding up the walk, Hugo tapped several times on the door, sliding his hands into his pockets as he waited. Draco's expression was apprehensive, but she couldn't blame him, given their experiences with the Arcands.

The door swung open, and a woman with chin-length auburn waves stood in the frame, her expression wary until she noticed Hugo.

He flashed a grin with a quick, "Laba diena, Florence."

"Hugo," the woman exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Labas. And Hugo's friends—the Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor."

Hermione blinked and offered a tentative, "Labas," in return. At her side, Draco sucked on his teeth before proffering a hand to the woman. Moments later, Claude Arcand appeared in the doorway as well, looking significantly less harried than he had the last time they had seen him in the park in London.

In the flurry of greetings that followed, Hermione found herself in the Arcands' sitting room, and a broad smile crossed her face when Meila Arcand crept into the room and gave her a swift hug with a soft, "I'm glad you're okay."

Worrying her lip as she took a seat on the sofa beside Draco, Hermione gazed at the small family. "Hugo says you're all settling in well."

"Very well," Florence Arcand responded, her green eyes bright, and Hermione took an instant liking to the woman. "Vilnius is fascinating. We assume aliases, of course, when we go out and wear glamours—Meila won't be able to return to Beauxbatons, but there is a small magical academy nearby in Kaunas where she will be able to study her potions and spellwork."

"That's good to hear," Draco said, leaning forward in his seat. "I know the situation has been unorthodox, but if any problems arise, let us know. From what I've heard from Hugo, you should be safe here—but just in case."

Claude Arcand shifted, his shoulders stiff. At last he ducked his chin and said, "Thank you—for returning my family to me. You did not owe us anything and went out of your way. From the few details Hugo and my wife and daughter have shared, it was not easy. I appreciate your efforts very much—and am pleased to see the changes happening in France under Minister Laurent. He will do well in the position."

The man's voice was thick with emotion, and Hermione felt Draco's thigh press against hers in the seat as he nodded, meeting Arcand's stare across the room. "Absolutely. You're welcome—but Hugo was the one who found them."

"And Hugo knows he is welcome in our house any time," Florence said, swiping a finger beneath one of her eyes. "As are both of you."

Draco's hand found hers, and Hermione forced a smile through the emotions brewing behind her eyelids. "Thank you, Missus Arcand. It was our honour."

And despite everything else, it was a stark reminder. He had Ascended—she had bonded with him—because they wanted to do some good. With everything that had gone wrong, as she stared at the small family, it was nice to think that _something_ had gone right.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks everyone for reading as always! I just love to see your theories about what's going on and who's doing what. I hope you're enjoying the story!

Squad love going out to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight!


	34. Chapter 34

Draco was exhausted. He had spent the majority of the morning out on the grounds and had nothing to show for his time and efforts. He dropped down onto a bench, arms folded across his chest and eyes narrowed at the carnage before him.

None of it made any sense.

Why now? Why target him? He couldn't wrap his head around the situation. He was twenty-five years old; the war had ended years ago. If Avance wanted the affiliation so badly, why had they let it sit, untouched, for generations?

What was so different now—or was it something to do with Cosette specifically?

Draco buried his face in his hands, a headache developing behind his temples at the magical strain.

A low whistle sounded to his left, but he didn't look up; he could feel from the crescent awakening at his wrist that it was Granger. Without waiting for his attention, she announced, "You've clearly been busy."

"It's fine," he muttered, pressing his fingertips gingerly to his forehead.

He could hear the amusement in her voice. "What have you been doing?"

Bitterly—but at himself and not her intrusion—he bit out, "Testing."

At last Draco looked up, grimacing at the depth of the havoc he'd wreaked on the grounds. Earth was torn up, planters overturned, and a thin haze of dust filled the air. His fingers still crackled with the magic pulsing through them.

"Testing for other abilities?" Granger mused, leaning back as she gazed out.

Nudging her with his shoulder, Draco met her stare. "That's what it was at first… then I grew frustrated. I wanted to learn the depth of it—whether there's a limit."

"And?"

"And I can't find it." He levied a tired sigh. "It just goes and goes."

Her fingers entwined with his, and she peered at his fingertips, still faintly shimmering. "We knew it was incredibly powerful."

"I wish it didn't exist and that none of this had happened." At the flash of hurt on her face, Draco winced. "I didn't mean—"

"I understand," she said quietly, but her voice sounded timid.

He stared at the ground, unable to convey any of the multitude of emotions that had been sweeping through him for hours. Eventually, he managed, "This is overwhelming."

Granger gave his hand a squeeze. "I know."

"I can't…" He drifted off, debating the words. "The timing of it all just can't be arbitrary."

"Can't it?" Her brows were lifted when he glanced her way again. "Maybe Cosette was the only one who wanted to go after you badly enough."

Shaking his head, he stared at her for a long moment. "But why?"

"I've been asking that same question all along. Ever since we learned the truth about Cosette. What could possibly be driving her to do all of this?" Falling silent, Granger gazed thoughtfully towards the gardens. "It doesn't make sense—this has been no small undertaking."

Clenching his jaw, Draco muttered, "And she won't stop until I'm dead."

The flippancy in Granger's tone was belied by the conviction in her words. "I'm not going to let that happen."

His chest tightened as he sought out the warmth of her stare once more. "I didn't mean it—you're the only good thing to have come from this mess."

She gave him a somewhat stilted smile in return, her hand tightening on his once more.

"I'm here with you, Draco. No matter what comes of this—we're in it together, yeah?"

"Yeah." The word was little more than an exhale, but something about it stirred belief in his soul. He cracked a grin. "You're stuck with me."

"That's okay." Her head dropped to rest on his shoulder. "I can think of much worse places to be."

* * *

Hermione glanced up, distracted, from the conversation she'd been having with Draco and Hugo as the three of them neared the Nocturnus Wing. The Swede had been updating them on his research into Alba when he followed her stare and stopped dead.

Elias and Cynthia Bergen stood in the corridor near the strategy room, their voices hushed, but even so Hermione thought they were speaking in Swedish.

Hugo frowned, a furrow lifting his brow as the conversation came to an abrupt stop.

Cynthia grinned with a cry of, "Hugo!" and the man blinked as his sister enveloped herself into his arms.

"Cyn," Hugo replied, his gaze lingering on his father. "I didn't know you were coming for a visit."

With a more demure smile and a bow towards Hermione and Draco, she explained, "I've come with Madeline. She was keen to see you again."

Elias Bergen broke in, eyeing Hugo closely. "And I was unaware you were still living in the Manor. I thought your plan was to return to Stockholm."

Cynthia edged away down the corridor with a bit of a wave.

"Change of plans," Draco clipped, his voice assertive as it carried through the small group. "Hugo has stayed on to assist Hermione and I in an unofficial capacity."

With a nod, Bergen folded his hands at his front. "As I see." He adjusted his glasses, and Hermione almost thought the fidgeting to be a tell of his nerves. "All for the best, as it turns out."

Hugo's usually jovial green eyes darkened with coldness as they narrowed slightly in his father's direction. He drawled, "And why is that?"

Bergen flinched, whether at Hugo's tone or not, Hermione couldn't say. But he looked contrite as his gaze swept the three of them. "Perhaps I was harsh in my judgments of a few days ago. I was worried after hearing of what happened in Italy." He hesitated, pursing his lips as he glanced away. "But I see now you were doing what you thought to be best. While I may not fully agree with your methods in that particular instance, it was wrong of me to say you were inadequate at your job. And ultimately, the Arcands were recovered from the stronghold and Claude Arcand unseated in France—so you did what was asked of you."

Hugo swallowed thickly at her side. Sweeping a hand through his hair, he nodded. "I appreciate that."

"We need to be devoting more resources to finding the leak from within Nocturnus. And…" Bergen straightened his shoulders, looking at Draco. "If the Lunaes are amenable, I would retract my vote for Hugo's removal from council."

Grey eyes slid sidelong to meet hers, and Hermione straightened her chin.

"We are amenable," Draco said with caution. Bergen had been so vehement about Hugo's dismissal that it felt like an extreme about-face. But emotion was prone to getting the best of everyone at times, he supposed. "The role of treasurer has already been filled—perhaps without enough due consideration—but there is a spot for Hugo as an adviser at the table regardless."

Before he glanced away, Hermione thought she saw a glassy sheen in Hugo's eyes.

"Very well," Elias announced, clapping his hands together. "Then I will see you all at the council meeting this afternoon."

Silence hung between the three of them who remained, and Hugo blinked, a little dumbfounded, before dragging a hand across the back of his neck. "Thanks," he bit out.

Staring down the hall after Bergen, his expression tight, Draco said, "You know how we feel about the matter." Swinging his gaze back to the conversation belatedly, he added, "But I imagine it's a load off to deal with the situation with your father."

"It is," Hugo admitted. "He and I haven't always seen eye to eye but… my mother passed when I was ten and Cyn was thirteen, and they're both all I've had. Except for Madeline, of course."

"I'm sorry," Hermione murmured, "I wasn't aware."

But Hugo shook off the sentiment, though his smile was a bit forced. "It was a long time ago."

Cocking a brow, Draco smirked. "And speaking of Madeline..."

"Indeed." A slow smile tugged at Hugo's lips. "I didn't know she was coming, I swear."

"Go," Hermione breathed, shifting a step towards Draco. "We'll see you later at the meeting."

Before either of them could say any more, Hugo was gone.

* * *

The atmosphere in the council meeting was tense, and Draco didn't care for it. Tressel, the new treasurer, was such a bland and uninteresting person that Draco could scarcely get a read on the man other than he seemed unphased at the fact of Hugo's attendance.

The rest of the council carried on as usual once it was announced that Hugo's dismissal had been retracted, and the matter had been settled.

But Draco didn't care for how divisive they had been during the vote the week before, during a time when it was vital they were all on the same page.

Given everything that had been happening with regards to France, as well as the situation in Italy, it was unsurprising that tension lingered all the same. But once Bergen completed his update on the situation with Minister Laurent in France—and Hugo offered a brief synopsis on the Arcands' situation, without giving up any details of their location—the atmosphere had settled once more.

Until Dagomir rose to his feet, looking around the room. His thick beard obscured much of his expression, but Draco felt a frisson of unease.

"It is my opinion," he began, his thick accent brusque, "that the situation with Avance is growing steadily worse. Between our deliberate raid of the Alba stronghold in Italy and Cosette's murder of two of our guards, both sides have made moves. War is upon us."

"Not to mention Avance has breached our wards on more than one occasion and sent an operative into our court," Bergen added, glancing at Dagomir as he settled back into his seat. "From what has been shared about the events at the stronghold, Cosette has seen the power of the affiliation and will likely do anything she can to claim it for herself."

Dagomir grimaced again. "And we can assume, given the steps she has already taken to push everything forward, she will be willing to do whatever it takes."

"Right," Draco murmured, glancing at Hermione. They had more or less shared an unspoken agreement not to bring up her own developing control of the affiliation. "And what do you suggest is the best course of action at this point in time?"

Bergen and Dagomir exchanged a look, and Draco suspected they had already spoken on the subject.

Gesturing with a beefy hand, Dagomir said, "We have two options. To move in and catch Avance off guard…"

Staring up at the ceiling, Draco released a long sigh. "Or we wait around for them to make a move."

A grim silence echoed back at him. Not for the first time, Draco wondered why all of this was happening. Every so often, he wondered whether he would simply wake from a bad dream.

But Granger was the one to speak next. "Where are we at with regards to Cosette's movements? Is she in France or Italy?"

"Sometimes France," Hugo said, shuffling through a stack of parchment. "She is a French national, according to my contacts, but her roots with Alba go deep in Italy. Since Minister Laurent has been installed and she's lost her mouthpiece in France, she has been spending the bulk of her time in Italy. Whether licking her wounds or preparing her forces… I can't be sure."

Dropping an elbow to the table, Draco buried his head in his hand. "And what does she have for forces?"

He didn't love the idea of blasting away Alba fortresses with no regard for the rest of the people inside—even if he didn't harbour much remorse over the thought of doing away with Cosette herself.

"We are uncertain," Dagomir bit out. "It is challenging to get a read on her numbers. From day to day, it changes."

"My sources don't know either," Hugo admitted.

"Surely not more than are within the Nocturnus Order." Hemione's voice spoke from his side, startled. Draco pressed his fingers into his temples where a headache was brewing.

A mental image flitted through his mind—white tents dotting the grounds of the Manor for as far as he could see. Thousands, ready and willing to fight. A surge of something akin to hope warred with the nausea in his stomach and the terror in his heart.

"If we are to rally the Order, we need notice," Bergen broke in. Adjusting his glasses, he stared around the room. "Given they were sent home when our contingent stormed the Alba fortress to recover Arcand's wife and daughter."

It was promising, Draco thought, that Bergen took ownership of the Nocturnus contingent. The man had reacted out of emotional strain when he had led a vote to remove his own son from the council and Draco would need the help of his top adviser for what was to come.

Releasing a long breath, he straightened in his seat once more. "So if we are to go to Italy and locate Cosette, and… if we are to go, deliberately, to war..." He glanced around, a pained expression pulling at his features as he met the stares of his council, one by one. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Please, for the love of Merlin, someone tell me there's a plan."

Although he wore a deep grimace, Dagomir offered a nod. "Yes, Lunae, there is a plan."

* * *

His fingers drifted lazily over the keys, wrenching emotion from his chest, his eyes bloodshot but dry. Draco had never wanted to go to war—not as a teenager, and certainly not now.

It was an impossible choice.

He didn't want to kill and destroy. He hadn't wanted any of this to come about.

More than enough blood had been spilled before his eyes, and he despised the thought of such a decision hanging over his head. But he had an Order to protect—beyond that… he had a family.

Moisture stung at his eyes.

He had Ascended to keep his mother safe and to keep the same cogs from stirring into motion. But here he found himself on the precipice of war, and Draco didn't know that he had it in him. Now, he was faced with the reality of protecting Hermione and leading an Order of thousands.

Even so, he knew the decision they had to make. He knew the decision Hermione wouldn't want to make was the path he needed to follow to keep her safe. Because he wouldn't drag her into this mess only for her life to be at risk.

For all that he knew, she could look after herself—and she had proven herself time and again in the short months since they had been married. But he couldn't force her to die for his indecision.

War.

As a boy, it was something he never could have imagined.

His fingers slipped across the wrong keys, a jarring, discordant clang of hammers and strings.

To have faced war not once but twice in his twenty-four years.

A shuddering breath wrenched down his spine, and he buckled at the thought, hands falling still and catching his face. Tears broke from his eyes. He had always been a coward, and no crown and robes could unmake the person he was.

He ripped at his hair, a ferocious sort of energy coursing through him and pulsing at the tips of his fingers.

Though they had put off the eventuality of it and danced around the options, no time remained. He had to do this, for the woman he—

"I thought I'd find you here."

She slipped onto the bench at his side, slinging an arm around his waist as she dropped her face to his shoulder. Whether she hadn't seen the moisture rimming his eyes or had chosen to ignore it, Draco didn't care, but he was grateful all the same.

"Sulking," she mused, and he could imagine the smile pulling at her lips. "Trying to solve the world's problems on your own."

Draco cleared his throat even as he drew strength from her hold. "You know me well."

"Believe it or not."

However it had happened, she was the one person he allowed himself to be vulnerable with. He never could have predicted it in a million years, that day when she had stood so stiffly in the throne room. He could still remember the look in her eyes when she glowered at his quick dismissal.

Pressing his fingers into a slow chord, he breathed, "What do we do?"

"I think," she said, her voice quiet and mournful, "we both know the answer to that. Cosette will never stop."

"Say we find her." A slow trickle of keys, a minor progression. "We take her out." Leaning forward, he allowed his fingers to slip into a soft, haunting adagio piece. "_Then what_."

Hermione's whisper conveyed the same pain chasing through him. "We do what we need to do."

He had no idea the depth of loyalty the people of Avance had for Cosette. Whether they would fight to avenge.

Pressing the keys harder, losing track of the rhythm, he ground out, "What gives us the right to make that call? How do _we_ decide?"

"It's an impossible decision," she breathed, "and we make it by knowing we move only to protect. She moves to attack—to take what isn't hers."

The words he feared to say pushed past his lips, bubbling out though they had no place. "I would kill her if it was to protect you." The words he knew in his heart, that he had never wanted to speak into existence. Because he knew how true they were, and he feared that part of himself—he always had. "And I wouldn't regret it—if it was you or her."

Granger didn't speak; only the tightening of her hand on his back suggested she had heard him.

When he hazarded a glance in her direction, silent tears poured down her cheeks. His heart broke at the sight; he clamped his jaw shut, forcing himself to push through the music lest he break entirely.

She remained silent as he poured the shattered remains of his heart out through his fingers, steeling his resolve as he pushed the emotions into the ivories and blacks. Emotions he couldn't bring with him into war. Dragging out the final notes, a heavy, ragged breath tore from his throat as moisture stung at his eyes.

Granger clung to him as he clung to the notes, and he could feel her soft breath against his collarbone, her quiet sniffles as she cried.

Letting his fingers hover above the keys for a long moment, he drew in a steady breath and then another. The light of the moon came in through the high windows in the large room, and he pressed his eyes shut, allowing the peace of it to soothe his soul.

Draco didn't know what the coming days would bring.

Didn't know whether his soul would be shattered beyond recognition if he was forced to use the Affiliation. On Cosette—on innocents in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or those who refused to back down.

He would protect his own, and it was the only acceptance he could find buried in the jumble of chaos that was his mind, in a vain effort to process everything.

"You need to know," he said quietly, taking Granger's hand into his; he brought it to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to her skin, feeling his own tears break free. "I love you. I am going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

"Draco." His name was a quiet exhale between them, and her large, watery eyes blinked up at him. He clamped his jaw shut, unwilling to break. She shook her head, her fingers tightening around his. "I love you, too."

His heart leapt at the admission, but her expression hardened before he could respond; she whispered, "And I will _bury_ anyone who comes after you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks so much for reading; I appreciate it more than I can say. My wonderful beta ravenslight created a stunning manip of Hermione as the Lunae Amor which I'll be sharing on my tumblr (indreamsink) once this chapter goes live.

Alpha and beta hearts to my lovely friends Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	35. Chapter 35

There was no going back from it now—war was upon them. Nocturnus had brought the battle to Avance, on Alba's original home soil.

The castle felt different this time.

Draco grimaced at the thought of everything that had happened to lead them to this point, and he sent a silent wish into the universe—in case anyone was listening—that they come out of this mess in one piece. And if he couldn't… he would make Hugo vow to get Hermione out safely. She hadn't asked for war. Hadn't asked for a sadistic psychopath to murder her husband.

They didn't want any of this. The mantra had been playing in Draco's head for days, ever since they had set the plan into motion and prepared to leave England. If all went well, this would be the end of the matter.

But Draco had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that left him far from reassured.

Despite the massive Nocturnus forces; the competent guard and council; and his brilliant, persistent wife… Draco couldn't shake the thought that things were going to go wrong.

And in this sort of a situation, _wrong_ could mean the difference between life or death.

The council and plenty of guards had settled into their lodging in the Nocturnus Castle in Tuscany. Because the space was so vast, Draco had yet to come across anyone other than Hermione and Hugo. Numerous guards were staked at every entrance, and Glenneth had spent hours the day they arrived reinforcing and layering the wards.

Some of the enchantments the mage was capable of blew even Draco's mind—it made sense, he surmised, why the council held such a position. Especially when considering the context that the operations of the Nocturnus council hadn't changed in centuries.

Hands laced around his midsection from behind, and Draco felt himself relax on instinct as he entwined his fingers with Hermione's, letting out a sigh at the feel of her face turning against his back.

"Are you ready for the meeting?" she asked, her voice muffled and resigned.

If something happened to her, he would never forgive himself for dragging her into this whole mess. But how were they to have known the truth of it all?

"Soon," he mused. "We have a bit of time yet."

In her hesitation, he heard volumes written in tension and fatigue. "Time is nearly up."

He squeezed her hand, turning to face her; though he could see the fear in the lines of her face, her eyes still held the same steely determination he had come to love and admire. The words held a deeper meaning and they both knew it. "I suppose you're right. For better or for worse, right?"

"Right." With a short, stiff nod and a forced smile, Granger tucked herself closer into his hold. For a long moment she stood with her head on his chest, eyes fluttering shut, and Draco was hyper-aware of the aggressive beating of his heart.

"Come on," he said at last, intruding on the fraudulent peace of the moment, "let's go outside for a while."

* * *

By the time they arrived at the meeting, the rest of the council was already present, including both Hugo and Tressel. The Nocturnus rooms in the castle made the wing in the Manor look like a cheap fabrication of the real thing, and the throne room was unlike anything Draco had ever seen.

He could only imagine, as he gazed upon the circular chamber, marble swirling in midnight blue and silver along the floor and up the Corinthian pillars, what the court must have been like. And the thrones, equal as they had always been, looked fit for royalty.

Because at one point in time… the Nocturnus Order had been the equivalent. Royalty in everything but a geographic domain.

Draco wondered if Nocturnus would ever again see such a rich legacy.

The thought buried a bitter twist in his gut, and he gazed upon the council, all risen to their feet. With a brief wave, he took his seat alongside Hermione, drawing peace from her mere presence.

It was difficult to fathom, the depth of clarity he felt when she was around. That there was only one acceptable outcome with the situation.

"Hello." Gazing around the table, he could see trepidation in each of the eyes staring back at him. "And here it has come that we are to go to war." Managing to keep a tremble from his voice, Draco turned towards Dagomir. "Where are we at with the Nocturnus forces?"

"The entirety of the Nocturnus Order are making their way to Italy," Dagomir said, clearing his throat. His expression was that of stern determination. "To ensure the protection of this castle and those inside of it, in the event of any possible leaks, the Order will establish themselves in an old Nocturnus fortress some distance southeast of here. Within two days, everyone should be prepared."

"Very good." Draco's eyes flit to Hermione, but she had so far remained silent and observant. "Where are we at with regards to Cosette? Her movements? Forces?"

"To our knowledge, Cosette is in Italy at the same fortress the three of you stormed in an effort to recover Claude Arcand's wife and daughter. We have a team assessing the location to determine the wards and protective spells we will face." Elias Bergen spoke, adjusting his glasses. "Although she has a tendency to vacillate. I have had eyes on her since before we left England, and she does not stay in one location long. Our window may be small to catch her here before she moves on."

At last Hermione spoke, leaning forward in her seat. "And are your eyes still watching her?"

Bergen's jaw clenched. "Always." Shoulders straightening in his seat, he cleared his throat and added, "Since the incident at the Alba stronghold, I have redirected my attention towards finding the person or persons responsible for passing information to Avance from inside Nocturnus. It is my belief that a member of the advising team was responsible—a man by the name of Wallace Buckley. Our movements here in Italy will not be discovered through that channel. The oath-breaker has been passed to Dagomir and his guard."

Dagomir's expression was hard, and Draco felt a shiver shoot along his spine. Even though Bergen's information was positive, Draco's blood boiled a little at the thought. He had spoken with Buckley on many occasions, had considered him, at the very least, an acquaintance. "This is excellent to learn. Disappointing, though, that Buckley was able to pass privileged information from within Nocturnus without being detected for so long."

Terse, stony silence hovered along the length of the table. Disappointing was the most diplomatic word he could think of in the moment when the power of the affiliation pulsed in his veins.

"Indeed," Bergen finally announced, his face stoic. "A shame."

Draco sucked in a deep, steadying breath, mind churning and torn between dwelling on the past and on thoughts of what was to come. For a brief instant, he met Hugo's eyes. "Once the rest of the Order has arrived in force, we will need to prepare to move."

"We will focus war operations from the fortress," Dagomir broke in. "Once we leave this castle, it is unlikely we will return until our mission here is through."

Bile churned and rose into Draco's throat at the thought that they might not return. "And her forces? Do we have numbers yet?"

Hugo shook his head, and everyone turned towards him, including Elias, his expression neutral. "Our best guess is several hundred. But there are so many old Alba strongholds Avance may be utilising throughout Italy, and there is a good chance that Cosette has additional forces yet in France."

"So," Draco announced dryly, "we might be looking at anywhere from a few hundred to… over a thousand."

Hugo's returning grimace was answer enough. "We will need to be prepared for whatever Cosette has. Our best shot will be to catch her off her guard."

"I think we can reasonably expect that Cosette knows we are moving," Elias Bergen said, his tone clipped. "Whether she realises our exact location and intent is yet to be determined. If she _is_ aware of our occupation in Italy, I think we will see her forces moving. We should have a clearer picture of the situation in the next day or two."

"By which point," Hermione said quietly, "Nocturnus will be in place and ready."

Draco nodded. "Exactly. Very well. It sounds as if we are the best equipped we could hope to be at this point in time. Will we prepare to relocate to the fortress then?"

"Tomorrow," Dagomir said, his expression grim. "Nocturnus will be arriving via Floo, Portkey, Apparition—a variety of methods to ensure their movements are not overt."

"Good." Gazing at the swirls in the elegant marble table, Draco blew out a long breath. "Tomorrow, then, we will relocate. Ensure our eyes on Cosette do not blink at the wrong moment, yes?"

There was a stifled sort of collective chuckle, though he couldn't manage anything close to a smile. Hermione's hand slipped into his, and he gave it a squeeze, feeling her magic mingle with his own, amplified by the pounding of his heart.

At last Bergen, with a wry twist to his lips, announced, "They will not, Lunae, I promise you that."

With a jerky nod, he dragged a hand down his face, scrubbing at his eyes. "What else do we need to know right now?"

"Right now," Dagomir said, his voice a quiet calm, "all you need to know, Lunae Ortus—Lunae Amor—is that the Nocturnus Order will fight to protect you by whatever means necessary."

Despite the intent behind them, the words sounded far from reassuring. When he met Hermione's hesitant gaze, he knew he wasn't alone.

"Very well." He clapped his hands to the surface of the table, his palms itching and magic pushing to break free with the heady rush of adrenaline. "Then this meeting is adjourned. If anything changes, let us know. Otherwise… we'll meet tomorrow to finalise the relocation plans."

At a general murmur of assent, Draco rose from his seat, adjusting his tie. His face and throat felt hot, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on his temples.

Hermione walked at his side as he left the room, keeping up with his brisk pace.

His magic felt trapped, confined, shining through the veins of his palm, and he pushed through the nearest set of doors. The Italian air was still warm as evening approached, and he blew past the guards posted at the door, ignoring their surprise.

Wrenching at his tie and feeling his stomach churn and pulse with an upheaval of nausea, his fingers tingling with the persistency of the magic within them, he noticed Hermione had fallen back, giving him space.

_War_.

The word echoed, resounding, clanging around the interior of his skull and bringing forth a migraine. He fell into a cold sweat as he advanced further from the castle, onto the heavily warded grounds, and he could feel the magic of the protective enchantments at odds with his own.

Beyond the eyes of the guards, a tremble overtook his body, a quake that began in his fingers and through his great-grandfather's ring that adorned his left hand, glowing with a faint white shimmer he could no longer control. Alone in a vast field, a low cry broke from within him—devastation, anguish, a longing for the control he didn't have anymore. Maybe he had never had it.

As his eyes fluttered shut, his fingers tensed and released, the Affiliation bursting forth with a strength he had never seen. A massive beam of white that he could see even through his closed eyelids broke free, and the earth shook as it collided with the ground partway between the castle and the towering stone walls beyond.

The pent up magic poured from his hand in a rage, and with its release, his heart slowed, the shake receding from his body. It had been too much all at once. And Draco couldn't contain it for so long, not when things had been so volatile.

Panting with the exertion of it even as he felt the magic weaken and dissipate at last, he blinked open to gaze ahead of him, his vision blurred.

The grounds before him were in ruins, and at the epicentre laid a crater the depth of two men in height and thrice as wide. Draco shuddered, his hand falling to his side, but he didn't dare approach any closer. As his heart steadied, his breathing once more returned to normal, and the heat chasing through his veins settled.

Granger came alongside him, blinking at the destruction he'd wrought, her eyes glassy. In silence, she slipped her hand into his, her cool skin soothing on the heat that still lingered in his palm. The magic that had roared in his veins only moments before quieted.

Her head dropped to rest on his shoulder, and though she said nothing, her quiet strength at his side in that moment said everything.

* * *

The moon shone a cool silver, high in a cloudless sky, and it felt more symbolic than ever.

Here in Italy, at the ancient seat of the Nocturnus Order, Hermione could feel her own fledging magic of the affiliation humming in her veins as she stood on the Lunae terrace, her eyes fluttering as a chill in the night breeze danced across her face.

They would relocate tomorrow and prepare the fortress as a base for war. And from there…

Her mind had been wild with the implications, the possibilities, ever since they had decided to return to Italy. This trip had a sense of finality to it, and it had been difficult to quell the fear chasing through her at the thought that things might not go their way. There were simply too many unknown elements with Avance to predict anything.

In an effort to distract herself, Hermione pressed her palms together, feeling the lunar magic build in the friction and allowing the silver threads to pulse from her fingertips and build into a brilliant orb.

Arms laced around her middle from behind, and instinctively she sunk back into Draco's warmth as he ducked his chin to rest on her shoulder.

Her eyes remained fixed on the magic as she released it from her hands, and they both watched as it floated up into the air of its own accord, shimmering and breaking apart in the breeze.

At last she breathed, "I wish we knew what to expect."

Humming, he turned to face her, planting a kiss to her cheek. "So do I. But without knowing anything more about Cosette's forces…" Trailing off, he added firmly, "Not tonight. We're as prepared as we can be for now. Let's not talk about this tonight."

Hermione relaxed, allowing her eyelids to flutter as her magic reached and entwined with his, humming and alive in her veins. Slipping a hand beneath the thin material of her jumper, Draco palmed one of her breasts, the pad of his thumb brushing her nipple through her bra.

Pressing back into his chest with a sharp inhale, her lips curved with a smile, heart rate jumping to life at his gentle, teasing touches.

"Being here always reminds me of that first night," she whispered, her voice coming out a little hitched.

He hummed, planting a trail of kisses to her throat as his hand slipped beneath the cup of her bra, tweaking her other nipple with more intention. Quietly, he said against her throat, "Same."

Despite the chill of the night air, Hermione felt warm, reaching back to rest a hand on his thigh, her fingers curling in the fabric of his jeans. The moon high in the sky above them called to her, awakening the magic of their bonds in her veins.

His hands tugged idly at the hem of her jumper, and Hermione obliged, lifting her arms as he peeled the fabric from her body and snickered as it caught momentarily on her hair.

Fingers toying with the closure of her jeans, he whispered by her ear, "My queen."

Moisture sprung to her eyes in an instant as she grappled back to find his hand; his fingers squeezed hers as he went on, both of them staring out beyond the balcony into the darkness of the rolling Tuscan hills below.

"One day," he said, the words coloured with melancholy, "all of this will be your domain. As it once was—as it should be."

With such reverence it sent a shiver down her spine, he pushed her jeans from her hips. One hand kneaded her breast, the other slipping into her knickers, his fingers grazing her clit with feather light touches that caused her body to flare to life with desire.

Chest heaving as his pressure increased just slightly, she reached a hand around the back of his head to coil her fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, twisting his face towards hers and brushing her lips against his.

His breath tangled with hers, tongue teasing hers as his fingers trailed further south, sliding into her as his thumb took up patient circles on her clit.

"Draco," she murmured, a breath hitching in her throat at the slow onslaught of sensation. Hermione could feel the bulge of his arousal against her arse and ground back against him in the idle rhythm he'd set with his fingers. Blindly, she reached back, fumbling for the closure of his jeans and slipping her hand into his pants, dragging her fingers along his hardness.

Pressing the side of his face into her temple, Draco groaned before tugging his shirt over his head with one hand, his fingers escalating in pace as he dragged his teeth along the line of her jaw. In a swift movement, he released the clasp of her bra, tossing it to the stone floor of the terrace; her nipples pebbled in the night air as her head fell back against his shoulder.

Their magic danced in the air between them, the cold shimmer of moonlight beaming down, and Hermione increased her pace, her desire for him building low in her belly.

With a whispered, "Fuck," he pushed his jeans the rest of the way off, and in a quick moment, his hand withdrew from her knickers; a surprised laugh bubbled from her lips as he swung her up over his shoulder and hauled her from the terrace to the bed, dropping her into the bedding.

In an instant he was above her, his lips desperately seeking hers, hands dragging along her curves, grabbing hold of her arse as he pulled her knickers from her legs. He toed off his own shorts before a smirk tugged at his lips and he flipped her over on the bed, dragging her arse towards him and pressing her front down into the quilt.

Dragging her bottom lip between her teeth, a cry broke from her lips at the intensity of the angle as he thrust deep inside her, his palm reverent against the cheek of her arse and his chest grazing her back as he set a quick, desirous pace so unlike his slow teasing on the terrace.

With each thrust, she cried out at the feel of his fingers curled hard around her hips and his breath hot against her ear. Her magic was alive and bright with the bonds that ran through them, and she reached for the crescent at his wrist, a smile tugging her lips as he groaned, nonsensical, into her ear.

The light of the moon shone from above, his pale hair white and silver, eyes sparkling with the magic between them as they sought hers.

She was close, feeling her body spiral towards some precipice, and without losing momentum, he turned her onto her back, covering her with his body and seeking her lips once more, his thumb drifting towards her clitoris with one swipe.

A soft breath of his name tore from within her, silver dancing on the inside of her eyelids as she broke around him, her magic swirling in her veins and reaching for his as he followed moments later, the comforting warmth of his body collapsing atop her.

Draco's eyes fluttered open, sweeping his fringe back from his face, and a hint of a smile played at his lips. He pressed one long, sustained kiss to her lips, withdrew from within her, and tugged her close into his chest, a thin sheen of sweat gracing his skin.

As Hermione snuggled into his embrace, pulling the sheets up above them, her eyes slid closed with fatigue.

Quietly, she whispered, "I love you."

His grip only tightened, and for a long moment he didn't speak. Just as Hermione was about to succumb to sleep, he breathed, "_I will raze the fucking world for you._"

As the words settled around her, she believed him.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hi everyone. Thanks so much for reading as always. I sort of can't believe how much of this story is published. As of today I'm working on chapter 46, and my earlier estimate of 55-60 chapters _I think_ should hold? Within a few anyways. I hope you liked the chapter!

Much love as always to my bomb team, Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	36. Chapter 36

Time went faster than Hermione was prepared for from the time they awoke the next morning to the time they were set to leave the castle behind and venture to the Nocturnus fortress.

As the Head of the Guard and war strategist, Dagomir had been tasked with the lead on the battle strategy and had taken to the role with gusto.

It was a devastating comparison, considering this wasn't the first war she'd fought in, but Hermione was relieved she wasn't the one making the plans in this particular instance.

As a whole, the council had agreed that while an attack on the Alba stronghold would give them an edge with the element of surprise, the Nocturnus fortress was nearly impenetrable, and with the whole of the Order ready to fight, it made more sense to draw Alba towards them.

The trick would be in pulling Cosette out from within the safety of her own stronghold without letting on to the sheer numbers they'd amassed. And despite guards on the lookout all day and night, they still didn't know the full truth about Cosette's forces.

But given Bergen and Dagomir had dealt with Wallace Buckley, the oath-breaker who had been providing information, their best hope was in catching Avance off guard.

There were flaws with the plan, certainly—most significant being that Cosette was cunning. The thought of attempting to storm the Alba stronghold wasn't a pleasant one either. Especially as Hermione recalled the civilians—and prisoners—who had been living and working there. They were unlikely to catch very many Avance in one place without actively drawing the battle into existence.

Cosette had danced around them long enough, and the council was in agreement—if there was a chance for her to claim the affiliation at last, she would want to seize it.

So they would hunker down within the fortress and invite battle upon themselves.

Hermione couldn't help the spike of fear from chasing down her spine each time she thought of it—every time the vast array of worst case circumstances clanged through her overactive mind, jarring in her heart.

The thought of losing Draco was more than she could handle.

A bitter, ironic smile curled her lips at the thought that he had become the most important person to her, despite their beginnings and despite the rest of it. He had become everything, and her magic tingled at just the idea of him. He was the Lunae Ortus—her leader, her king, and her forever. Without him at the helm, the Order would crumble, and that was simply unacceptable.

And somehow she knew she would do anything she could to keep him safe.

* * *

The Nocturnus Order had converged in Italy by the thousands, their dark and sleek armour filling every corridor and tower of the fortress. Their faces were stern and focused, and as Draco swept through the stronghold, Hermione at one side and Dagomir at the other, a small contingent of guards at their front and rear, each member dropped into a deep bow.

Draco had donned his Nocturnus battle gear, crown resting firmly on his head with magic, and though he had questioned the need for such a thing, Hermione had suggested it to be symbolic more than anything.

The Order needed their Lunaes, proud and leading from the helm of such a dire moment.

There would be no place in battle for long, formal robes, and Draco thought the tailors had outdone themselves as he gazed at Hermione head to toe. Her long-sleeved shirt and trousers beneath the sleek protective gear were of a shimmering, iridescent material, midnight blue with silver detailing sewn into the fabric; the material was inherently protective and repellent of offensive magic. She was the night sky incarnate, chocolate curls pulled into a series of intricate braids and wrapped around the delicate silver of her crown.

But it was in her eyes where he lost himself. In the dark fires of her irises, he saw her steely determination, the hard edge of her desperation.

Sucking in a breath, he paused briefly and pressed his face into her hair, drawing her in for a steadying moment.

Her fingers grazed his chest and midsection, and he felt the hitch of her own breath even as she remained silent. Withdrawing, they carried on, thousands of eyes on them.

The plan was in motion, battle imminent.

* * *

Tapping on the door to Hugo's chambers, Draco waited in the hallway for a moment before the door swung open. Clad in his Nocturnus defensive gear, Hugo blinked at him several times before leaping back and dropping his head into a bow.

"Lunae," he said, straightening. "Is everything alright?"

Sidling through the door, Draco locked and warded the room from within with a few taps of his wand; Hugo's expression shifted, his eyes wary when Draco stepped further into the room.

"As well as can be expected at this point," he returned. His own dragonhide felt heavy and cumbersome, though it was remarkably lighter than it looked. It wouldn't stop all offensive magic, but dragon leather was naturally imbued with certain defensive properties that could weaken incoming spells.

The silver crown atop his hair felt far heavier than its mass.

"Right," Hugo drawled, "and what can I do for you?"

Draco managed a tight smile. "I only wanted to run through the—" He blinked several times. "Hugo, are you wearing a sword?"

Hanging from Hugo's waist was a scabbard of midnight blue leather, and within it was the exposed hilt of a sword, brilliant silver with elegant blue gemstones embedded in the metal.

Following his gaze, Hugo flushed a little. "Yes."

Bemused despite himself and the situation, Draco asked, "Are you planning on cutting down Cosette with it?"

"It's symbolic," Hugo muttered, looking uncomfortable. "It's… it was my great-grandfather's. He bore it into battle alongside Septimus Malfoy when he was Chief Adviser of the Nocturnus Order. He gave his life in service that day."

"Oh," Draco said quietly, chastened. "I don't think I was aware."

"I wear it today," Hugo went on, clearing his throat, "as a reminder of my oaths to the Nocturnus Order, and to you, my Lunae Ortus."

A spike of adrenaline lanced through him at the reference, and Draco swallowed. "Interesting, to think our great-grandfathers fought alongside one another." Nodding towards the scabbard, he added, "Let's see it then."

As Hugo fumbled a little in drawing the sword, he scoffed and said lowly, "I never claimed to be proficient with it." Draco snickered, feeling for a moment like a child again as the pair of them admired the elegant steel of the blade before Hugo offered it to Draco, who held it in reverent hands.

Hugo's stare flickered to his. "The house of Bergen has long served alongside the house of Malfoy. For over four hundred years—ever since the Nocturnus Order migrated to England."

"I often wonder," Draco said, adjusting his grip on the handle; the blade felt perfectly balanced in his hand. "Would things have been different had I grown up knowing I would Ascend. If my father and grandfather had accepted their role."

"I think so." Hugo's green stare held something deeper as his lips twisted to the side. "Perhaps we both would have been more prepared for all that was to come."

"How are the lines decided, do you know?" Draco asked, handing back the sword; with great care, Hugo stowed it back into its sheath. "The advising lines, the Ascension lines. The rest of the council. Even with all that I've read, there are still things I don't know."

With a thin press of his lips, Hugo tilted his head to the side. "Sometimes it's arbitrary. Certain lines fall out of favour, or the line fails to continue and another house steps in. Most council roles are held until they can no longer fulfill their duties, at which point the position will pass down, typically via the patriarch. The advising house is second in line in the Order; it was a Bergen who held the throne before the first Malfoy Ascended instead."

Draco wasn't certain he was breathing, and a heavy furrow settled in his brow. "Malfoys took the Order from Bergens?"

Hugo grimaced. "Yes and no. It's all very diplomatic when an heir is either not present or not fit to rule." Sweeping a hand through his thick hair, he thought for a moment. "It's a bit cloudy, as it was centuries ago but… essentially the Order did pass from one line to the other. By the way it's been hushed up, _my_ suspicion is that the only son of the last ruling Bergen was a squib."

It added a more complex dynamic to the relationship with both Elias and Hugo Bergen, and Draco wondered why he had never heard of that before. Or perhaps it was simply buried in the stacks of information he had unearthed in his hurried preparations to Ascend.

"It wasn't…" He paused. "Hostile?"

"Not to my knowledge." With a vague shrug, Hugo dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "Like I said, it's just the way the Order has always operated. The Order needs the Lunae Ortus because they need the affiliation. Without it…"

"Right," Draco murmured, his chest tight. "Without the affiliation, the Order collapses."

Hugo was quiet for a long moment before his eyes lifted once more. "We're going to beat her, Lunae." His voice dropped, gaze darting towards the narrow stone window. "There are some two thousand people down there ready to fight for you and their oaths."

"It's just all been so chaotic since I Ascended," Draco admitted, feeling a kinship with the man more than ever. "I feel like I've been walking through all of this half-blind. I don't even _know_ those people."

"It doesn't matter," Hugo said quietly. "This is how it's _always_ been."

For a heavy, tense moment, they held one another's gaze. At last, Draco swallowed, clenching his jaw. "Tell me something, Hugo. If you believe so much in Nocturnus—if you're willing to give your _life_ to keep the affiliation safe—why were you such an arse?"

An uneasy grin spread across Hugo's face, and he glanced away. "I don't know. I think it took a while for it all to feel real. I imagine you and I grew up in similar environments—in Sweden, the house of Bergen is one of the oldest magical lines."

"I hear that," Draco said with a grimace.

"For what it's worth," Hugo continued, blowing out a breath, "I regret it. It was never a matter of disrespecting you or the Lunae Amor, although I see now I didn't make things easy for either of you. I guess when I realised you were actually relying on me…" A faint blush coloured his cheeks.

Clapping a hand to Hugo's shoulder, Draco gave a reassuring squeeze. "I get it. If the tables were turned… I think I would have been the same way. I don't know how much you know about the war that happened in England a number of years ago."

"I followed insofar as your involvement," Hugo admitted. "Maybe it sounds odd, but I always hoped one day I would get to meet you. Cut from a similar cloth and all that."

Now Draco felt a swelling of shame in the pit of his stomach, remembering his role in the war and the cost of his actions. Quietly, he said, "I'm sure I was a disappointment."

"We all learn our lessons," Hugo said, a thoughtful tilt to his head. "Remember: I attended Durmstrang. There is… perhaps a different shade to the lessons there than you faced at Hogwarts."

In a flicker of an instant, Draco recalled that Durmstrang favoured blood status and the Dark Arts. Even so, he could only offer a grimace. "I learned a few lessons back then."

Hugo's gaze found his again. "And I suppose I've learned mine here."

"I guess…" Trailing off, Draco found himself looking out the window to the expansive fortress below. "That's all we can ask of ourselves, yes?"

A hint of humour twitched on Hugo's lips. "It is indeed, Lunae."

"Draco." His eyes snapped up to meet the other man's. "Please, call me Draco."

Ducking his head into a bow, Hugo breathed, "I don't know that I can do that, Lunae."

"After everything… you and I have a lot of years ahead of us together," Draco mused, and when Hugo glanced his way again, his eyes were glassy.

"Yes, that we will," Hugo said with a sharp nod; his voice faltered a bit as he added, "I will do my best to ensure it."

"What I need for you to ensure," Draco said, the words tense but soft, "is that if something goes wrong—if things don't go according to plan, and I don't make it—" Holding up a hand, he stemmed the words he knew would fly from Hugo's lips. "You fucking _promise_ me, Hugo Bergen, that you will get Hermione out."

Hugo's eyes shone with despair, and belatedly, he gave a singular, sharp nod. "I promise you I will do everything within my power to get her to safety should issues arise."

"Good," Draco said, the word thick and gruff.

They both jumped, startled, at a soft knock on the door. Through the heavy oak, one of the guards spoke. "It is nearly time to go, Lunae."

Blowing out a short breath, Draco met Hugo's green eyes once more. Quietly he said, "Let's show them what Nocturnus means, yeah?"

A wry smile curled Hugo's lips into a grin. "It will be my pleasure."

* * *

Draco fell into stride alongside Hermione en route to the war room central within the fortress. Her expression was stoic, her chin held high, but her hand slipped into his in an instant, and Draco tugged it to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles as he reached for the handle of the stone door. The fortress was a place of battle and war and lacked the decoration of the castle.

Tall stone walls towered on all four sides, a thick door and drawbridge the only visible means inside. The entirety of it was imbued with ancient protective spells, which had been bolstered and reinforced by Glenneth's magic.

Below the fortress lay a twisting labyrinth of escape tunnels.

"What's the situation?" he asked as they approached a large oak table featuring a map of several regions of Italy in the centre of the room. Hermione's grip on his hand increased to the point where he held back a wince, shooting her a glance. Her visage had gone pale.

Dagomir and Elias stood in conversation, and moments later Hugo entered the room, sidling up alongside Oro and Tressel. Glenneth stood by the far wall, his expression dire.

There was no cause for light-heartedness on this occasion.

Elias Bergen was the one to break the tense mood. "Avance have taken the bait; they are on the move."

A frisson chased the length of Draco's spine, but to his surprise it was Hermione's quiet voice that spoke next. "And have we an understanding of their numbers yet?"

"It is not exact," Dagomir responded, jabbing a thick pointer finger into the map in the general area of the old Alba stronghold where Cosette had been staying, "given different means of transportation, but according to our guards on watch, several hundred have departed the stronghold. Once they reach the barriers of our wards, we will know for certain."

Several hundred. The words churned like acid in Draco's stomach, and he exchanged a quick glance with Hermione. "The only one I want is Cosette."

"Lunae," Bergen said, dropping his chin, "Cosette is not the only one who will seek to oppose you. The time may come when you will feel obliged to _protect_ your order."

His response ground through his teeth even as he realised the truth in Bergen's. "I am aware."

When he glanced up again, something like sympathy shone in Hugo's green eyes, and Draco couldn't handle that. A thick lump settled in his throat, and he couldn't quite swallow.

"We have two thousand Nocturnus standing ready," Hermione said, her tight stare fixed on the map. "What are their orders?"

"Their orders," Dagomir said gruffly, "are to defend their Lunaes at any cost. This is war, and Avance will not show mercy if they are anything like their predecessors."

Hermione gave a sharp nod; her skin held a sickly green tinge.

"If any Avance seek to surrender—" Bergen broke the ugly tension, his words sharp "—the guards will of course follow protocol."

"Of course," Draco murmured, the words slipping from his lips as if of their own accord. All he could think of were the thousands of people who were willing to lay down their lives for the sake of an order in which he'd only been involved for a handful of months. Managing a swallow, he added, "Do we have an estimated time of arrival?"

All Dagomir said was, "Very soon."

"We will know as soon as they have breached the wards," Bergen added.

Frozen at his side, Hermione stared ahead, her eyes tightened as if in severe concentration. One hand hung awkwardly at her side as if in mid-action.

His head spun with the thought that this was actually happening; war was upon them, and there was nothing for it at this point. He couldn't imagine hundreds of people so zealous as to seek his death to seize an ancient magical power.

Even one so powerful as the lunar affiliation.

"Something is… not adding up here," Hermione said, her brow heavy with a furrow and lips twisting into a frown. She still hadn't looked away from the map. "Why would Cosette willingly walk into battle where she is not only significantly outnumbered but also at a complete disadvantage from a battle standpoint?"

Tense silence answered her question.

Glancing up, her eyes sharp as they roved the council, she went on. "Can you imagine storming a fortress when you have only a fraction of those defending it?"

"Cosette believes she has an advantage," Draco murmured, adrenaline spiking in his veins. "She must."

Her voice dropped, a hopeless edge to her words. "What can she possibly believe? When Draco could take out her entire order with one wave of his hand."

Draco had no answer, finding himself lost for words as he simply gaped at her. All of it swirled around in his brain, leaving him barely capable of processing even the most basic thoughts. Bergen cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses.

Hugo gave a hesitant shrug. "She could be bluffing."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "With the lives of hundreds?"

"More likely," Hugo went on, dragging a hand across his neck, "she isn't. The Lunae Amor's right, and we need to take a closer look at this situation. Perhaps we're… overconfident. We have the fortress—the numbers—the affiliation. What does Avance have? Cosette knows how many strong we are, and she would _not_ seek to lead her people into certain death. If she did not believe she could take the affiliation today—"

"She wouldn't be coming," Elias concluded.

Draco wasn't certain he was drawing breath, and Hermione's hand gripped his so tightly his fingers were numb. "What," he asked, his voice low, "are we missing?"

The entirety of the council was silent, and a shudder of dread seeped from Draco's spine through his whole body, leaving him feeling cold but for his fingers, which tingled red hot.

His great-grandfather's ring on his finger pulsed with the raw magic it sought to control.

The crescent at his wrist throbbed with the unease of his Amor.

With a grimace, Dagomir leaned over the table, both hands planted flat. "I do not know, Lunae Ortus."

"I am afraid," Glenneth interrupted, his entire countenance somber, "we are out of time. Avance have arrived just beyond the wards. The enchantments will not likely hold them for long, as they will have brought their own spell-breakers."

Hermione whispered, "How many?"

After several moments of consideration, as if he were gazing elsewhere, Glenneth said, "They number in the estimation of five hundred, Lunae Amor."

Five hundred Avance seeking to take his life.

Draco stared down at his palm, the life lines shimmering with the pure magic constrained within. How many had died—how many had killed—for the sake of the magic flowing within his veins?

Regret and despair stung at his eyes. It had been a mistake, reigniting the Nocturnus Order, and he saw it now clear as the light of day.

Even as the murky orange and lavender of dusk broke through the narrow windows into the outer fortress beyond.

Clenching his hand into a tight fist, he breathed, "So be it."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Next chapter's a big one, friends. I hope you liked. Be safe and see you soon xo

Alpha and beta squishes to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	37. Chapter 37

_The rising moon / The setting sun  
__What's left to prove? / What's won is won  
__Don't sleep too soon / Come fire or flood  
__What's left to lose? / What's won is won  
__But it can always be undone  
_Undone - Tommee Proffit feat. Fleurie

…

His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, as if counting the clamouring, jarring beats against his ribcage as Draco stepped from the war room.

Magic crackled and seared in the air all around him, and for a brief instant, he felt as if time had all but slowed to a stuttering halt.

Hermione stood at his side, shimmering like the night sky, her hair pulled into an elegant twist around her crown. She was more regal, more _stunningly_ beautiful, than he had ever seen her. He could see it in her eyes: the devastation. The desperation and the despair. But her face was set with determination, the line of her jaw hard, her gaze tight and focused.

A soft, unfamiliar facsimile of a smile pulled at his lips as he stared at her. Magic pulsed at the tips of his fingers, threatening to push forth of its own accord, and he drew a deep breath, assessing their surroundings.

Nocturnus, as far as he could see.

In their midnight blue battle armour, wands held aloft in firm, unwavering grasps.

Beneath the fear and the dread, Draco felt, for a fleeting moment, pride. Through every obstacle, the Order had stood, ready to defend and to fight for what they believed in.

And now, facing war and the potential of their demise, they stood tall.

His resolve steeled as he gazed upon their faces; it was up to the two of them to return such devotion and to protect those people they served.

The magic of the wards crackled all around them still, Avance's spell-breakers dismantling Glenneth's carefully layered enchantments. At Draco's other side, Hugo's hand came to rest on his shoulder with an affirming squeeze.

"We'll give them hell, yeah?" he said, breathless. His grip on Draco's shoulder wavered just slightly with the bobbing of Hugo's throat.

"Yeah," Hermione whispered from his other side, her lips twitching.

The intricate twisting vines of her wand shone in the early hints of night, and Draco's eyes slipped shut as he narrowed in on the feel of the moon, beginning its ascent towards its peak in the sky. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones, adrenaline and magic spiking in his veins as one.

At last, he opened his eyes and said, "We'll give them hell."

The bright light of a spell shot through the darkening sky above them, and Draco blew out a long, careful breath. His wand felt flimsy in his hand while the other pulsed and throbbed with raw magic. In the moment, Draco steadied the race of his heart, gaining control of the magic as his left hand hung loosely at his side.

More spells broke through the wards, streaking through the sky in reds and blues and purples, chasing overheard and deflecting off the imbued stone.

"Faith," Draco mused, glancing at Hugo; his gaze swept to Hermione, and he added, "Courage."

His wide stare fixed on the spells as they chased by, Hugo breathed, "Being more than we ever realised."

A slow grin spread across Draco's face. "For the Order."

As one, Hermione and Hugo echoed his words, their voices quiet. "For the Order."

A contingent of guards had settled around them, and Draco caught the eye of Ben, who offered a wink and a grin. Further beyond Hugo were Vlad and Boris, and at the front of the guard was Dagomir, more focused than Draco had ever seen him.

Hermione's fingers briefly squeezed his, his affiliation pulsing against her skin.

Magic soared through the wards, breaking through and chasing over the high walls of the fortress, before plummeting downwards.

A Nocturnus man threw up a shield charm, and the curse broke, shattering in a shower of sparks.

A great battle cry went up, and magic flew from the frontlines of the fortress where the Nocturnus fighters nearest the front of the battlements had a direct view down onto the Avance forces below.

Draco's heart leapt into his throat, lunar powers shimmering in the night air around him, and he strode forward, pacing beyond the line of fire, eyes narrowed in on the fighters.

From near the front lines, so much spellfire rained down it lit the night sky with violent flashes of colour, and it might have been beautiful if it wasn't so terrifying.

Even from where he stood, Avance was at a clear disadvantage, both in numbers and in tactical location, and Draco's mind spun at the thought of it. His eyes scanned for the dark hair and slim figure of Cosette, but in the falling darkness, he could scarcely discern one Avance from the next.

Idly, he wondered whether that would make it easier.

Guards shadowed him on all sides, Hermione and Hugo at his flanks.

Over the ruckus of magic and raised voices, he mused, "What is she doing?"

Shaking her head, Hermione only offered a grimace; Hugo muttered a low, humourless, "_Losing_."

All three of them had been at the Alba stronghold when Cosette had caught and nearly killed Hugo, and Draco didn't need to voice the thought that things simply weren't adding up.

Slowly, Hugo's gaze dragged around them. "This isn't right, Lunae."

"It can't be a decoy," Hermione said with a rapid shake of her head. "Not with so many people."

"Not a decoy," Draco agreed, and the three of them retreated from the walls, seeking out Dagomir where he led the guards from one of the towers.

"Madness!" Dagomir exclaimed before they had even reached the man. Although Draco had never heard the man curse, Dagomir shouted, "What the fuck is she doing!"

Desperately sweeping a hand through his hair, Draco hissed, "We're missing something."

His mind spun as he raced through everything they knew about the situation, from the decisive and strategic way Cosette had behaved when they had stormed the Alba stronghold for Claude Arcand's family to how they had been forced to work under the radar because of the leak from within the advising team—

"Dagomir!" Draco exclaimed, approaching once more. Holding up a finger, the man descended from the ramparts towards the three of them. Draco's heart raced a frantic cadence in his chest as he quickly exchanged a glance with Hugo. Mind leaping between one errant thought and the next, he pressed his fingers to his temple.

"She thinks she has an advantage—she thinks she _knows something_—" A thought registered, inciting dread in the pit of his stomach, and he said to Hugo, "I need to speak with your father. Stay here—I'll be right back."

Hugo's expression faltered, his eyes tightening, and though he opened his mouth to respond, Draco was gone, dashing from the rest of the group and scanning the mass of people spread in all directions.

The interior of the fortress was safe in comparison to the frontlines, given they were out of range of any Avance spellfire.

In the chaos, he had already lost Hermione and Hugo, twisting towards the far corner, but they were safe with Dagomir and it was of the utmost importance that he find Bergen—

Searing heat and a blinding flash of light erupted from the stone a short distance in front of Draco's feet, and he was thrown backwards in a great, concussive blast, his vision going black.

* * *

"Damnit!" Hugo exclaimed as a great explosive roar sounded from the far side of the fortress.

Staring at a dusty haze across the floor of the fortress, Hermione said, "What in the name of Merlin—"

"Explosives!" Dagomir shouted like the word was a curse. "Avance has brought Muggle explosives."

Leaving his contingent to continue with their barrage of spellfire, he dashed towards the wall, Hermione and Hugo following closely. She cast a glance behind, but was uncertain which way Draco had gone. At any rate, she didn't think he'd veered towards the site of the blast.

Several guards had followed after him, so at least he would be protected.

Hugo said, "I don't think he went that way."

Although nightfall was upon them in earnest, the spellfire was so voracious that it lit the sky, and Hermione gaped, dumbfounded as she stared over the wall at the ground beyond.

"Is that…" she mused, blinking, "a catapult?"

Hugo met her stare for a moment. "To be more specific, it's a trebuchet—you can see the counter-weight."

Despite the urgency of the situation, she fired him a bewildered stare. "You're a swot, Hugo Bergen." Lips twitching, she added, "That's saying a lot coming from me."

His cheeks pinked. "I like history."

"Regardless of what it is," Dagomir groused, "it's throwing explosives! This fortress wasn't built to withstand such a thing!"

As her stomach plummeted, Hermione saw the colour drain from Hugo's face. The trebuchet at the backlines of the Avance troops was being loaded once more, and further along the horizon, she spotted another. It reminded her of the way the old Alba fortress had employed Muggle arrow traps. She hissed, "We need to get back to Draco. _Now_."

Following the line Draco had taken when he ran off, Hermione cursed under her breath that they hadn't immediately followed him. In the mass of people, all clad in similar shades of dark blue, and with the panic mounting in her heart and blurring her vision, she could barely see faces.

The three of them made their way across the structure and through the crowds. Hermione could only hope he had already found Elias, and she wracked her already ragged brain for an idea of what had sent him off so quickly.

Mind churning with thoughts of the advantage Cosette thought she had, she didn't realise tears were running silently down her cheeks until Hugo's hand coiled around her elbow.

"I'm not losing you, too," he muttered through clenched teeth and a tight jaw.

"Hugo," she rushed, attempting in desperation to follow Draco's reasoning, "what if your father didn't find the person responsible for sharing privileged Nocturnus information—of there was another person, or—"

"Fuck!" he snapped, running a hand through his hair. Turning to face Dagomir, he asked, "What did my father tell you?"

Dagomir's expression darkened. "A member of his advising team was responsible. The oath-breaker has been dealt with."

"Just one?" Hermione implored.

The man nodded, his eyes flashing. "To my knowledge."

"Fuck," Hugo repeated in a huff, hissing the word as a mantra to himself. "There must be another. There's _no way_ Cosette is doing this without inside information."

"No way," Hermione echoed, jaw clenching as she forced a thick swallow in the dusty air. "We have to find Draco, find your father, and find out what's going on."

She left the last words unspoken, haunting the tense space between them. _Before it's too late_.

Along one wall, another explosion erupted, sending rubble and dust into the air with a distant cacophony of shouts and screams. The three of them gaped; adrenaline and fear raced through her.

With a strangled cry, she mashed her thumb into the crescent on her opposite wrist, hoping against everything that she could somehow reach Draco.

Dagomir offered a grimace, drew his wand, and led the three of them deeper into the fray.

* * *

A low groan sounded, and it took Draco several long moments to determine the sound was coming from himself. His ears rang, muffled, the back of his head throbbing as he rolled his face to the side, grimacing as sharp bits of stone and debris dug into his cheek.

"Lunae!"

A voice, saturated with panic, forced him to open his eyes. He stared up into the bright blue gaze of a woman he recognised but whose name he couldn't place. The dull flickers of pain persisted through his skull, and with significant effort he lifted a hand to feel moisture in his hair.

The woman released a sharp exhale. "Thank Merlin you're alright."

"Quite the spill you took, Lunae," another voice, deep and gruff, said to his right. Blinking clumsily, Draco stared at the other person.

"Ben," he said, his voice dry and hoarse; his tongue felt too thick for his mouth. Glancing back at the woman, his mind clicked at last, and he muttered, "Madeline. What—"

Making to push up from his spot on the ground, Ben's firm hand held him in place. "You could have a concussion, Lunae."

His words sounded slurred to the ringing in his ears. "'Mm, alright. Need to find—where's Hermione?" Attempting to focus his thoughts was like swimming through mud, and he grimaced. "Hugo?"

"I haven't seen Hugo," Madeline announced, swallowing, "or the Lunae Amor."

Something snapped into place in his mind, and he struggled once more to push himself up. "I need to find Elias."

"Haven't seen him either, Lunae," Ben said, "but our first priority is making sure you're alright. I'll call for a healer—"

"No time," Draco ground through his teeth. Wrapping a hand around Ben's thick arm, he pulled himself upright, pressing his eyes shut tight against the barrage of pain in his skull. "Can do it—m'self."

He didn't know if it was even possible or if the magic would respond the way he needed it to, given his head was swimming in a wild disarray, but Draco plastered his palm to the back of his own head, fixing all of his efforts into the magic of the affiliation.

The magic wasn't nearly as responsive as he hoped, but some of the anxious pounding settled, and he could feel a large gash through his hair slowly knit shut.

Against the admonitions of both Ben and Madeline, he rose to unsteady feet, ears still ringing in the aftermath of the concussive blast, and curled a hand around Ben's sturdy wrist to stabilise himself. Dragging a hand down his face, he winced to realise his fingers were still coated in an obtrusive mixture of sticky blood and dust.

He muttered, winded with the exertion of standing, "I'm going to need your help. Hermione is with Hugo and Dagomir—I need to know they're alright. But I need to find Elias, and something tells me we don't have much time."

"Noted," Ben said, shoulders straightening as he snapped to attention. He spoke briefly with a handful of guards nearby, and the three men nodded and spread out in separate directions. "They'll find your bride, Lunae."

Worrying her bottom lip, her wand held within trembling fingers, Madeline asked, "What do we need to find Hugo's father for?"

"He has information I need," Draco said, scanning the crowds as some of the fog dissipated from his skull. "And I'm afraid it can't wait."

"Well then," Ben announced, his expression more serious than Draco had ever seen, "let's go."

* * *

Hermione jolted to a stop as Hugo's arm swung out in front of her, heart stuttering in her chest as she tightened her grip on her wand. Dagomir crept forward, crouching down, and she followed his movements without breathing.

"Avance," Dagomir bit out, prodding a man's prone form on the ground of the fortress. She wouldn't have noticed in the darkness, but the man wore gear of black with gold seaming rather than the navy and silver of the Nocturnus.

"What's he doing inside the fortress?" Hugo snapped.

Lip curling with revulsion, Dagomir rose once more, nudging the body with his toe. "We won't know—he's dead."

It was difficult to ignore the reality of it; the closer they travelled towards the main entrance, the amount of immobile bodies increased. Hermione forced a swallow, steadying her breathing even as flashbacks raced through her mind from five years ago: the unmoving forms of students and classmates. The casualties they'd lost in the Battle of Hogwarts. Tonks and Remus and Fred and—

Forcing herself to the present, she nodded. "We will have to—"

In an instant, so quickly she could barely comprehend, Dagomir's hand curled around her shoulder, and with a slash of his wand, a man crumpled to the ground several feet away.

Fury burned in Dagomir's expression even as caution flitted through his eyes. When they approached, Hermione realised the fallen man also wore Avance clothing. She didn't ask whether the man was still alive, eyeing his prone form.

"How are Avance getting in?" Hugo hissed. "The drawbridge is intact."

"No matter how," Dagomir growled, "they _are_. We need to warn the Lunae Ortus."

A thrill of fear shot through her spine at the thought that Draco might be caught off guard and unawares; in her panic, a mental image shot through her head at the idea of him surrounded and alone. She nearly darted off, but Dagomir held her firm.

Eyes roving the darkness, he said, "Carefully."

On all sides as they walked, Nocturnus rained spells down on the Avance gathered beyond the fortress, fighting them from within. Despite a tremble to her hand, Hermione cast as many offensive spells as she could at the black and gold clad figures, but Dagomir was so quick with his wand by the time she spotted any Avance fighters they were already down, and she found herself grateful for the Head of the Guard as their personal escort.

As they neared the war room at the centre, Vlad rushed forward, drawing heaving breaths. "Sir," Vlad said, "Avance are—"

"Inside, I know," Dagomir said. "Fight them off. They must be coming through the tunnels."

"How?" Hugo asked, shaking his head; he looked nauseated, his complexion pale and sickly. "The tunnels are an absolute labyrinth. If they _did_ manage to infiltrate, they should be lost down there."

"They aren't," Dagomir returned simply before facing Vlad again. "For fuck's sake, someone find the Lunae Ortus."

Quickly, Vlad returned, "He's with Ben and Madeline near the north wall. I'm to retrieve the Lunae Amor."

A loud exhale chased from Hugo, and he pressed his lips together in a thick swallow.

"Thank Merlin," Hermione whispered, exchanging a glance with Hugo even as another massive eruption rocked the foundation of the fortress, and they all braced upon impact. Idly, she wondered whether Cosette had any scruples whatsoever, to be firing explosives into the fortress her own people had infiltrated.

Relief chased through her at the thought that Draco was alright and with a guard escort.

Dagomir nodded. "Let's go."

With Vlad leading a direct path, it should have been easy to reach the north wall, but a steady flow of Avance were inside the fortress now, and the four of them made slow progress, Dagomir and Vlad merciless as they cut down any enemy in sight.

Hugo looked increasingly ill, and Hermione felt a spasm of sympathy as her own heart raced in her chest with an ugly spike of adrenaline. He had obviously never experienced magical warfare before, and even though Hermione had fought in battles as a teenager, she didn't think she would ever grow accustomed to the sick dread that accompanied such a thing.

He kept close to her side, shoulders tense and a heavy furrow in his brow as he kept his jaw clenched. But he vanished from her side upon sighting Madeline.

Relief chased through her when she saw a distinctive flash of platinum blond at last, and she rushed towards Draco, though he looked significantly worse for wear than when she had last seen him. His clothes were coated in a thin layer of dust, a swath of his hair tinged an unsettling copper like the shade of dried blood.

"You're okay," she whispered, grasping him by the arms as his grey eyes blinked at her. He was a little unsteady, but he nodded.

"Fine," he muttered, and Hermione noticed a slight tremble to his hand. "I got caught in one of the explosions, but Ben helped me. Listen, Hermione—Avance are in the fortress. We need to figure out how they're getting in—and there's another traitor."

"We know," she rushed, glancing at Dagomir as the man briefly conferred with his nearby guards. "We haven't seen Elias, but Dagomir said he was only informed of one oath-breaker."

"There's no other way they can be navigating the tunnels below the fortress," Draco hissed as Dagomir stepped into the conversation.

With a sharp nod, Dagomir announced, "I've dispatched a contingent of guards to locate Avance's point of entrance. There are four access points from the tunnels into the fortress. What's done is done, and there is no way to prevent them from reaching the tunnels, but we can keep them from entering the fortress."

"Force them to retreat back into the fields," Draco said, running a grimy hand down his face. "It's our best option even though they've blown the damn place half to rubble."

Indeed, as Hermione gazed around, this area of the fortress had crumbled to chunks of stone and debris, dust heavy in the night sky. Great holes had been blown through the stone, large segments of the tall walls decimated.

"It is not safe here," Dagomir announced, his eyes trained on Draco. "We must get you to safety."

The blond scoffed, flexing his fingers. "I'm not leaving the Order to fight this battle alone."

Even as he spoke the words he swayed a little, and Hermione started forward with alarm, grasping his arm. "Are you alright?"

"Hit my head," he muttered, gazing down at his palm. "Tried to heal it up myself, but I don't think I went deep enough. Bloody magic isn't quite—"

As he spoke the words, a ball of magic pushed from his hand as if of its own accord and nearly grazed the side of Dagomir's face; the man's eyes widened as he released a harsh breath.

"Fuck," Draco exclaimed, "sorry." Looking contrite, he clenched his hand into a fist as Dagomir stepped back into the fray. "Nocturnus are being killed, and I can't—"

As he focused once more, his stare a little glassy, he brought the affiliation at last into his palm. His eyes lifted to find hers, mouth fixed into a hard line. Hermione could see the agony and the indecision in his stare, and though he obviously required medical attention, she knew it would be a futile effort to push.

For all the conversations they'd shared about the realities of war and the hypothetical nature of it, they had never discussed the massive destruction of the affiliation. She knew he didn't want to use it.

She could see it in his eyes, the pressure and the responsibility. The way his hand trembled just slightly. But she knew, deep down, the resolve he carried to protect his own.

Holding his stare, she whispered, "Clinical."

Hermione wished it were only the two of them and that they had time, but battle raged on all around them. They were out of time, and it was all at once the simple truth and a complex design. They needed to push through.

With a thick swallow, he nodded, drawing a deep inhale through his nose and blowing it out.

"Right. Clinical," he bit out, despair haunting his eyes as his voice dropped to a whisper. "It's war. Kill or be killed, yeah?"

His raw vulnerability shattered something deep within her chest as she stared at him, unable to respond. But as if steeling himself, Draco squared his shoulders, and Hermione watched as the affiliation built within his palm, shimmering down the length of his forearm.

As his gaze tightened, Hermione followed his stare to an approaching Avance man, who cut short mid-step as his eyes landed on Draco, flickering from the magic in his palm, to the fury in his stare, to the shimmer of his silver crown.

And the flare of magic that became the last thing the man knew.

Cautious, Hermione observed as Draco approached the man's prone form, his jaw locked tight, before his grey eyes flickered up to hers, and he huffed out a breath.

There were no words in the moment, no time for sentimentality, but Hermione could see his resolve, his devastation, and in that moment, his courage.

His hand still shone with the deep well of his lunar magic, and when he glanced at Dagomir, the man offered an infinitesimal nod. Draco bit out, "Let's take back this fucking fortress."

* * *

Time became a blur, stumbling from one occurrence to the next, even as the images flashing before his brain were stifled and stiff. Slowly, the invading fighters of Avance dwindled, their numbers too few, while from the towers, Nocturnus continued to strike down those who still ambushed the fortress with spellfire and explosives.

Draco's fingers tingled from the force of the affiliation, eager and ready to serve his bidding, and the faces of those he struck down blended together, a series of images he knew would haunt the rest of his days.

And as they received word from the guards that they'd located Avance's entrance into the fortress, a narrow pathway that supplied an Apparition chamber to the surface above, Dagomir led the charge with ferocity in his eyes.

Not once had Draco seen Cosette.

The interior of the fortress still teemed with those fighting, though the bodies piled around them, and fewer Avance leapt out of the shadows.

But he knew, somehow, she wasn't there. That she wouldn't lower herself to fight alongside her people. It was the difference, Draco sought desperately to ensure himself, between them.

At his side, Hermione wore a veil of despair.

They hadn't determined the other traitor—the one responsible for such loss and bloodshed—and Draco found his stare flickering between his cadre, unwilling to let any of them out of his sight for long. To Hugo, the one whom he'd struggled to trust, but who had become so close. And Dagomir, determined and ruthless, sworn to serve the Order with his life.

The rest of the council, fighting within the fortress; the numbers were so vast, the fortress so large, that he hadn't seen most of them in hours.

The dozens of guards who had taken up arms.

And the hundreds—thousands—of Nocturnus who fought within and without the fortress, as the battle moved to the fields and the more courageous abandoned the safety of the stone walls.

The only person he could trust, implicitly, in his soul, was Hermione.

Elias, Glenneth, Oro, Tressel—any of them could have possessed their own motivations to betray the Order, but he couldn't wrap his head around the idea of any of the council seeking his destruction.

Couldn't stomach the thought of someone in his inner circle playing such a hand.

Perhaps he'd been blinded by his drive to do good and to protect those who sought to protect him in return. They should have realised there was more going on below the surface. Because he had seen the labyrinthine tunnels below the fortress, and only someone who knew where to go would have found the interior Apparition chamber.

It was so apparent now.

Lifting his palm towards a black-clad figure, Draco barely felt the magic sear from the tips of his fingers. Barely winced, so numb to the reality of it.

Beneath her stare, Hermione hid her fear, though he could see it all the same. But they had no choice, because Cosette would surely kill them all if she could.

And Draco needed to get to her first.

Below the surface of his skin hovered a frisson of nerves that perhaps she would not show at all. But the Order was weakened, and she had sent her people to fight her battle for her; surely she must be there.

Mentally and emotionally drained, Draco climbed the nearest tower, scouring the fields below.

That was when he saw her, through the dim lighting from the turrets, standing at the back of her remaining troops; in the darkness he could see only her slim figure and the outline of her hair, pin-straight, but he knew it innately.

Lip curling with disdain and fury as Dagomir ascended beside him, he growled, "Cosette."

Dagomir's gaze flickered to him. "We will go through the tunnels. The networks are vast; we can come out behind her."

Drawing in a breath, Draco clenched his palm with a shuddering nod. "This ends," he breathed, "now."

Strong and assuring, Dagomir's hand curled around his shoulder. Quietly he said, "You have fought valiantly tonight, my friend."

Nodding again and pushing the faces with their dulled stares from his mind, Draco said, "And you."

When he met the man's hazel eyes, Draco swallowed. It couldn't be Dagomir who had betrayed him. Not when the man had been so persistently loyal from the beginning.

It couldn't be Hugo, who despite looking on the verge of sickness all night, had remained by his side, wand steady in his hand.

Warning bells pealed in the back of his mind, growing ever louder, and Draco forced a thick swallow, pushing the thoughts aside. What's done was done, and now all they could do was to finish it. The situation began with Cosette and the affiliation, and it would end with Cosette—and the affiliation.

Drawing strength from the moon high above, its cold chill seeping into his soul and twining with his magic, he murmured, "Let's go."

* * *

The tunnels were even more complex than Draco remembered from their arrival at the fortress, and as the dull yellow light of their wand tips bounced off the walls, a shudder raced down his spine. The guards had followed the paths of Avance into the subterranean network below the fortress, seeking out the stragglers and those who had sought to run.

Bodies littered the corridors, and Hermione kept close to his side, even as her face betrayed nothing.

Their contingent included Dagomir, Hugo, Ben, and Vlad, all of whom had refused to stay behind. With Nocturnus overpowering Avance, it was safer within the fortress than beyond the walls.

With each step, Draco felt his heart racing in his throat, magic tingling in the tips of his fingers and pulsing through his veins. The air was stale and tight, the walls narrow, and he felt his breath quicken as they paced forward.

Having studied the tunnels extensively, Dagomir led them beyond the fortress, and Draco felt the shimmer of the protective magic imbued into the stone as they left its borders.

Still they persisted onwards, beneath the fields where Nocturnus and Avance still fought in the heat of battle.

Draco dreaded to see the aftermath and the fallen Nocturnus he had desired to protect. Who had fought and died in an effort to keep the Order alive.

Hermione's fingers threaded into his, the contact fortifying his nerves as the crescent at his wrist pulsed and reached for her magic. He tightened his grip, giving her fingers a brisk squeeze and drawing strength from her support.

In the dimly lit passageway, he met her stare, and his resolve only strengthened further. She didn't deserve this, and it was within his power to provide a better life for her.

He read it in the movement of her lips, rather than in the volume of her words, when she whispered, "I love you."

Bringing the back of her hand to his lips in their joined hold, he murmured the same into her skin, allowing his eyes to briefly flutter shut as he dug deep for the strength to continue fighting.

At last they came to the end of the corridor and what seemed to be a dead end as the tunnel rounded into solid earth once more. But Draco met Dagomir's glance and offered a nod.

It was another Apparition channel, only this one would lead them to the surface above. An old, ingenious trick by Lunaes long gone to negate the need for access passages or stairwells.

His very soul felt cold, his heart beating a dull, somber rhythm as he gazed upon the faint shimmer of magic before him. They had no way of knowing exactly what was above; if Dagomir's estimates were correct, they would have traversed the entire area of the siege and would arrive beyond where they had seen Cosette.

Ben and Vlad strode forward and stopped just before the Apparition point, seeking to be the first ones to the surface. Their expressions were dire as they turned to Draco for direction.

Gazing for a long moment at the silver lines of his palm, he wondered, just briefly, how all of this could possibly have been worth it.

Clenching Hermione's hand with his other, he nodded.

Laying a hand to his heart, Ben dipped his head into a deep bow and vanished; Vlad followed suit. Dagomir Disapparated next and Draco drew in a long, steeling breath, before glancing between Hermione and Hugo.

Quietly, he bit out, "It's been an honour."

Hugo dropped his head into a deep bow before looking back up. "The honour has been all mine. Lunae Ortus—Lunae Amor."

Hermione's eyes shone with unshed tears, and Draco didn't know how he could look at her with the way everything had turned out. All he could do now was finish what someone else had started.

Because he had roped her into all of this.

Warmth stung at his own eyes, and he pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips; before he could think on the situation any further, he stepped into the portal and Apparated to the surface.

Draco barely registered Hermione's and Hugo's arrival beside him as he stared at the small guard presence alongside them. They were back behind the fray, as Dagomir had predicted, and Draco's heart quickened in his chest as he scanned the crowd still fighting.

From the ground, everything looked so much more severe.

Dark figures slumped on the all around, and though he couldn't see their faces in the darkness, he felt each of their losses in his soul.

Ben and Vlad stood a short distance away, their wands drawn, and when Draco approached, following their stares, he could see Cosette's slim figure, her back to them. Magic pulsed through his hand and up his arm, the affiliation gathering its strength once more in preparation for this, the most monumental of battles.

"She will have protected herself in some way," Dagomir cautioned at his side. "Be careful, Lunae."

As he stared straight at the woman, assessing the situation, his hand hung loosely at his side, the affiliation steadily building. Draco recalled the way she had crafted a shield around herself when they had infiltrated the Alba stronghold to recover Arcand's wife and daughter.

The affiliation was naturally spell-breaking—but she would have learned that lesson.

Draco couldn't see the shimmer of wards around her form, but they were far away, and it was dark.

Still, the affiliation grew, lighting the ground beneath him in its intensity.

Behind him, Hermione and Hugo stood, wands at the ready as they kept watch.

His heart hammered in his chest, breaths rapid with the rise and fall of his chest. It took everything within him to contain the magic flowing freely to the surface of his skin—but he wouldn't release the power until he was ready.

Then, as if in slow motion Cosette turned, her face silhouetted in the darkness. A smile curled her lips.

Quietly, she spoke. "You've come to join me at last, Lunae Ortus." A cold, mirthless chuckle escaped her mouth. Draco wondered if she realised she was about to die; idly, he speculated as to what else she had up her sleeve. But she went on. "I thought you might spend the whole night hiding up in your tower, watching your fighters die."

"Like you've done?" he returned, dredging up a bit of a drawl, "Sending all of your people into a battle where they had a clear disadvantage?"

Her eyes flickered for a brief instant towards his palm. "That doesn't matter," she said, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips. "Because all that matters is that magic in your hand. I suppose you think you're going to kill me, Draco Malfoy."

At his side, Dagomir tensed. Ben and Vlad stood their ground as Cosette took several steps towards them. As far as Draco could tell, she was alone, and he wondered at her level of hubris.

He didn't respond but to lift his hand; the collected magic was so dense it was nearly blinding, illuminating the entire area. Slowly, Draco released bits of it, unspooling it like a thread to encircle his guards and his friends—they were all the same now, he supposed—protecting them. And still, the magic remaining pulsed in its raw fury.

"Impressive," Cosette purred.

Through clenched teeth, Draco managed, "Isn't it?"

His heart pounded in his chest, threatened, and throughout the back of his mind, warnings triggered insistently. Something was wrong, and he knew it.

But they were here, and they were so close, and he couldn't wrap his head around the situation. Couldn't understand why Cosette's cheshire grin only widened.

All along, Avance had been ahead of them. They had known things of which Nocturnus had been unaware, and now, Draco knew the feeling once more, deep within him.

His gaze darted to Dagomir's at his side.

"It's funny," Cosette whispered, breaking the tension as it gathered and built in the air between them all, "that you think you're going to kill me tonight."

Dagomir hissed, "_Do it_."

Before he could think further or contemplate himself into a worse situation, wondering at her motivations, Draco clenched his jaw; with a curl of his wrist, the affiliation flew. It was enough magic to decimate a small village, if he so willed it.

With a huff of a breath, Draco watched, eyes narrowed, as the affiliation deflected inches before eclipsing Cosette; his lips parted, with a whispered, "_No_," as it shifted, just skimming one corner of the fortress. It collided with a great cacophony of stone, crumbling the tower at the corner to the ground in a heap of dust and rubble. Fighters leapt out of the way to avoid the fallout.

When silence fell in the distance once more, thick and rancorous, Draco merely flexed his wrist, allowing the magic to build once more.

In all of his tests, his own mental fortitude had depleted long before the magic of the affiliation ran out.

But there was no shimmer of magic playing at his fingertips, its cool touch creeping down his forearm. The lines of his palm remained dull and unresponsive.

He felt his cohort tense as one.

And a short distance away, beyond the guards, Cosette's grin widened.

"I think you will find, Mister Malfoy," a new voice broke in, bone chilling in its familiarity, "that your magic will not work here tonight."

A sharp inhale of a breath sounded from Hugo at his left flank; the fingers of Draco's right hand clenched his wand tighter.

Slowly, his heart throbbing in his throat, roaring with the race of his blood in his ears, Draco turned his head to see Elias Bergen, a nasty smile on his lips as he walked up alongside Cosette.

"You," Draco hissed, eyes narrowing on his chief adviser—the one to whom he had entrusted everything.

At his right, Dagomir's face remained blank, his eyes flitting between Cosette and Bergen, assessing the situation. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. Ben and Vlad stood firm.

But to his left, Hugo stormed forward, his face fully drained of colour. Confusion and bewilderment sat blatant on his features as he scowled at his father from Draco's side. "You can't have—"

"You should have returned to Stockholm, Hugo," Bergen interrupted, his voice cold. "When you were given the chance." And though Hugo had fought bravely all night, his wand hand trembled when Draco glanced his way. Bergen snapped, "Come, Hugo."

Baffled and hurt, Hugo turned towards Draco, whose stare remained fixed on Elias. He asked only, "Why?"

"The house of Malfoy was never fit to rule," Bergen spat, revulsion and loathing clear on his face. "Not your great-grandfather, who chose to let Nocturnus fade into obscurity rather than fight. Not your snivelling coward of a father." The words hung in silence for a moment before he added, "And certainly not _you_."

Hermione shifted into the space between him and Dagomir, her eyes hard. The fingers of her left hand grazed his wrist, and he could feel the enticing tingle of her magic.

Lips twisted into a sneer, Draco said, "And I suppose you think _you_ should have been granted the ruling seat."

"Nocturnus belongs to the House of Bergen!" Elias exclaimed, the words ringing in the night air. "The _affiliation belongs _to the House of Bergen."

It was Hugo who spoke next, devastation and fury mingled in his words. "As per Nocturnus rule," he ground out, his jaw clenched so hard Draco thought his teeth might shatter, "the Order passed from House Bergen to House Malfoy."

Crisply, Bergen announced, "It was _taken_. Tonight, we will take it back. _Come_, Hugo—or die alongside the rest of them."

Despite his brain reeling as the situation unfolded between them, Draco felt pressure building in his temples as he reached again and again for the affiliation, finding no response. He cast a wild glance around, panic building within him. If he couldn't penetrate Cosette's protective spells, they were at a sudden and severe disadvantage.

Hugo flinched and bit out, "I stand with my Lunae Ortus."

"Idiot boy," Elias spat, "chasing ideals you do not understand. I should never have brought you to England with me."

Still, Draco flexed his palm, clenching Hermione's hand desperately within his, hoping to draw her faint shreds of the affiliation into him.

"You are learning," Elias said, his tone steadying once more, "that dear Glenneth's magic is strong enough to choke your own—for a limited time, but long enough for our purposes here."

Draco could hear Dagomir's low growl as he glanced around to see Glenneth approach, the mage's hands lifted in a spell. Another sharp stab of betrayal settled in the fringes of his heart. But the man's eyes were glassy and haunted with despair as if he fought an internal battle, a tight downturn to his lips.

By his ear, Dagomir whispered, "He is _Imperiused_."

"Elias," Draco breathed in return. Dagomir gave a brief, sharp nod. If they could distract the caster long enough for Glenneth to break free, Draco could regain use of the affiliation.

Hugo still stared at his father, despair and devastation etched in the lines of his brow, his wand loose in his fingers.

In an instant, without preamble, Dagomir, Ben, and Vlad fired at Elias.

Glenneth was faster than their spellfire, swinging one hand towards Bergen in a protective shield; the spells bounced off the man in the same way the affiliation had been deflected from Cosette.

For barely an instant, Draco felt magic tease the veins of his palm before Glenneth refocused, strangling the lunar magic in a choke hold once more.

Despite Bergen's distraction, Glenneth held firm, and Draco ground out to his cohorts, "It isn't him controlling Glenneth."

"I'm afraid," Cosette broke in, speaking for the first time since Bergen had revealed his true colours, "as touching as this all is, Elias and I have work to do." Her cold gaze swung to Hugo. "For the sake of your father, I will offer you this last chance to join us."

There was something in the way she caressed Elias' name, something in the way they shifted closer to one another.

Hugo picked up on it, too, as he breathed a horrified, "_No_."

Something flashed in Bergen's eyes as he gazed upon Cosette before turning back to Hugo. "You've been nothing but a complication this entire time. I thought if you were threatened you'd run back home."

Suddenly, Dagomir murmured, "Tressel."

Draco followed his gaze, keeping his expression carefully stoic, to see Tressel, the appointed replacement treasurer, with his wand trained on Glenneth from a safe distance.

He ought to have realised; Draco's eyes tightened as he scowled at the man.

Another active bout of spellfire exploded from the guards and still their magic bounced off, unable to penetrate whatever sort of shield Glenneth had erected. Sorrow shone in the man's eyes as they held Draco's, tears leaking from their corners, but still he couldn't relent.

Pushing onwards, their cohort persisted in their ambush of spellfire, both deadly at Tressel and non-lethal force at Glenneth in an effort to throw him off.

Every so often, Draco felt a flicker of his magic through the disarray, creeping through his veins and tingling, cool, against his skin. But it wasn't enough, and when he tried to summon the magic, each time it only sputtered and died.

Even Hermione's fledgling magic, her hand gripping his, couldn't awaken the affiliation in his veins.

And their spells continued to bounce off.

Fear crept into Draco's heart, fear for Hermione, for Hugo and Dagomir, for the guards, all unwavering in their efforts.

Revulsion curled his lip at the look exchanged between Cosette and Elias, and Draco felt his fury boil in his veins. Cosette had said Glenneth could only kill the power of the affiliation for a short while, so if they could somehow manage to distract them for long enough to regain his power—

But Cosette snapped out, "Glenneth, we don't have all night."

A frisson of real fear chased down Draco's spine as the mage turned on him, pacing forward. The pale irises of Glenneth's stare shone with fear, desperation, and misery.

Draco growled under his breath, "Fight it." Glenneth's stare flickered, blinking rapidly, and Draco felt a breath catch in his throat as the man's jaw clenched hard. He whispered again, "I know this isn't you—_fight it_."

On all sides, the battle raged on, but as Draco stared into the depths of Glenneth's eyes, watching the man war with the grip of the spell, dread settled into his bones. He had no way of fighting the man off, not by affiliation nor his wand, useless as the rest of them.

In his periphery, he saw Dagomir wind up and strike Tressel in the jaw; a flicker of magic flared in Draco's palm. It was a wonder the man was still standing. Ben and Vlad converged on the treasurer, and Glenneth's stare shifted again, a hint of the cloudiness dissipating.

"Do it now!" Cosette screamed, drawing her wand, as Elias' spellfire blew Ben backwards.

Draco could see in Glenneth's face, the moment when Tressel regained control, and the last of his hope sunk away. All he could see reflected back at him was his own demise. Desperation couldn't will the magic to flare at last, and Draco felt useless as the day he was born.

He could only hope Hugo or Dagomir would get Hermione away in time.

Grimacing, Glenneth began a low chant in Latin; Draco didn't attempt to catch it, his mind whirring as he sought an answer—anything he could do to turn the tides of this battle back in their favour.

Maybe if Cosette and Elias took the affiliation, they would spare Draco's friends. Hermione, his beautiful Lunae Amor. The woman he never deserved but who had become everything he ever wanted.

His own spells broke, useless, on Glenneth's shield, and as the spell carried on, his head began to throb, a reminder of the wound he'd suffered earlier and had pushed through on adrenaline alone. His body began to fatigue, the strength waning in his clenched fist.

Idly, Draco saw Dagomir and Ben throwing themselves bodily at Glenneth's shield and being fired back.

He couldn't bear to look at Hermione, though he desired to seek out the beauty in her stare once more.

Draco didn't know how to acknowledge that he'd failed her so intensely, and shame welled within him, hot and painful, his many failures building and blurring as moisture in the corners of his eyes.

He felt faint, and he wasn't sure if it was truth or delirium that he could see his own magic leaching from his body in thin wisps, shimmery and silver like the moon. Draining him of his power as his very core magic seeped through his pores, drawing from his veins with the slowing of his heart.

Though battle raged and he knew people were shouting, everything became muffled, dulled to a faint echo. His eyes fluttered shut, his energy all but drained; unsteady on his feet, his knees buckled, and his wand fell from his useless grasp.

Faintly, Draco could hear Hermione's voice, and a hint of a smile curled his lips.

All went black.

* * *

"No," Hermione gasped, eyes wide as she stopped, frozen. Terror gripped her heart as Glenneth turned away, and Draco crumpled to the ground, his magic creeping from him in shimmery tendrils and following after the mage. Tears sprang to her eyes as she ran forward, a broken sort of keening pouring from her lips as she collapsed to the ground beside him.

His skin was cold, his eyelids lightly closed, and she pressed a trembling hand to his pulse, to the beautiful silver crescent at his wrist.

Even now, she could feel the soft prodding of her own affiliation, but it wasn't strong enough. It wasn't enough when he needed her.

Her breaths choked from her as deep, gasping sobs, her heart pounding an anxious rhythm that she could hear in the rush of her blood.

Pressing a faintly shimmering hand to his chest, she drew Draco towards her, cradling him to her heart.

"_Hugo!_" The word tore from her throat, hoarse and raw, and the man glanced up from his duel. At last Glenneth's shield collapsed, and Hugo's spell threw Tressel back into the air as he rushed forward.

Vaguely, Hermione heard Dagomir shout something, but everything was dull and muted beneath her own sobs.

Hugo landed at her side, and she met the tears in his eyes through her own, blurred, as moisture poured freely down her cheeks with the shattering of her heart. With a long breath, Hugo pressed the tips of his fingers to the pulse point at Draco's throat.

He cussed under his breath, grabbed a hold of both her and Draco, and buried a hand into his pocket.

In a whirl of time and space, they were gone.

…

_End Part 2_

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. See you in five days xo

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	38. Chapter 38

_**Part 3: Resurgo**_

Her world was a blur. Or was it a nightmare?

Hermione knew nothing but the feel of her own silent tears coursing down her cheeks, Draco's skin cool to the touch as she clutched his unresponsive body to her chest.

And the dull, faint shimmer of her palms where she clung to him, as if her magic were seeking something it hadn't yet realised it had lost.

Over and again, her mind replayed the scene as if it had been hours ago, but it had been only moments.

Vaguely, she could feel Hugo's grip as his fingers tightened on her shoulder, whether in reassurance or to pull her away, she couldn't tell. Ducking in, he checked Draco's throat for a pulse, but his face was grim. A raw, stifled sob tore from her, fresh tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

They weren't on the battlefield anymore, and in contrast, their location now was starkly muted. The lights were out, but through the thin curtains the light of the moon cast just enough light to determine they were indoors.

Hermione didn't know where they were. She didn't care where they were.

Draco's eyelids were closed and pale, the skin beneath his eyes bruised. The tips of her fingers shimmered, her magic reaching for him as she ran them along the sharp line of his cheekbone.

"Draco," she whispered, the word sounding as defeated as she felt. There was no way he— "He can't be _gone_."

Again, Hugo's hand tightened on her shoulder, but he didn't respond. Faintly, she heard his footsteps as he left the room, but a dull and insistent ringing in her ears kept her from paying any closer attention.

"You aren't gone," she whispered to Draco's prone form, the saltiness of her own tears lingering on her lips.

He still wore his Lunae crown despite that his blond hair was nearly unrecognisable through blood, dirt, and grime. Sweeping his murky fringe aside, she leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead; his skin was cold beneath her lips.

There was still a battle raging.

But in that moment, Hermione had no strength remaining. The great rending of her heart was more than she could handle, and she pressed her temple to Draco's, her tears seeping across his skin as she cried her loss and devastation.

Distantly, she heard voices—Hugo's and another she couldn't place. A woman's voice.

"What in the name of—" the woman said, stopping short as she broke the threshold of the room where Hermione clung to Draco's lifeless body. The thought spurred another rush of hot tears. A sharp gasp, and the woman was at her side, ducking down.

Through her tears Hermione recognised Florence Arcand, and she tore her eyes from Draco for the first time to stare at Hugo.

Reticence coloured his grimace as he shrugged. "It was the only place I could think of that they couldn't find."

And then the events of the night rushed back; Hugo's own father had betrayed him and the Order—he had been _working_ with Cosette all along and none of them had realised.

"I thought," she breathed, the words hoarse and small, "we couldn't Portkey here—"

It helped to distract herself. To talk the situation through. Because they still had a situation to deal with.

"I made one for emergencies," Hugo replied, turning sorrowful eyes on Draco, his fingers pressing to the blond's filthy throat once more. "We won't be able to use it again, though. And we'll need to relocate the Arcands." He glanced towards Florence. "I apologise for the intrusion. We've had a hell of a night."

But then a sharp inhale escaped Hugo's lips, and his eyes tightened on Draco's form. Taking hold of his wrist, Hugo pressed harder, and Hermione felt the reverberations of Hugo's magic through her own crescent as he touched Draco's.

"Hermione," Hugo whispered, "your hands."

Her palms still shone with a faint shimmer, and she nodded. "They've been doing that—I can't really explain why sometimes I can utilise the affiliation."

Cautiously, Florence asked, "What is wrong with him?"

"He's been attacked," Hugo said, his green eyes snapping up, even as he continued to search for a pulse. "The lunar affiliation—his specific and powerful magic—has been torn from his magical core."

The blood drained from Florence's face. "I know a little bit about healing, but of this…"

Hugo stared hard at Hermione for a moment. "We need to get him cleaned up. Do _not_ let go of him."

A breath hitched in her throat, and she gazed once more at the faint magic emanating from her palms into Draco's skin. She whispered, "What are you saying?"

Idly, Hugo handed her Draco's wrist where his bonded crescent still shone, though it had dulled with the loss of his lunar magic. Pressing her thumb to the crescent, she felt a slight shudder of magic, and her heart flared to life in her chest.

With a thick swallow, he said, "I don't know. But he's alive."

Florence clapped a hand to her mouth before jumping up and transfiguring the sofa into a table; between the three of them they carefully maneuvered Draco's prone form, and moments later Florence returned with a bag of potions and ointments.

Hermione's head whirled with the thought that Draco was still with them, in some faint capacity, and she focused on pouring everything into the magic in her hands. If the affiliation acted upon intent, she could leave little doubt as to her intentions.

She needed him _alive_.

As Florence began to painstakingly clean some of his wounds, Claude Arcand rushed into the room in a dressing gown. Hermione watched on, fixated, Hugo silent at her side.

If any part of the situation before him surprised Arcand, he didn't show it. He only paced to Florence's side, his expression stern, and peered down.

His eyes lifted to Hugo, his battle gear torn and filthy, and then to Hermione—and she could only imagine how she looked, tears tracking through her dirt-stained face. Quietly, she whispered, "We need your help."

"And you'll have it," Arcand returned, his voice gruff. "It's the least we can do. The house is warded beyond all reasonable measure—"

With a sharp inhale, Hermione looked towards Hugo. "Didn't you say Glenneth helped you set up the initial wards?"

Hugo flinched but then shook his head. "He was never here. He doesn't know the location."

Florence and Claude exchanged a glance, and Hermione felt the need to elaborate the situation, given they had been unquestioning of the danger appearing in their sitting room in the middle of the night.

"We've been betrayed," she said, managing to keep her words as concise as possible. Hugo's jaw was hard when she glanced his way. "By some key members of the Nocturnus council. Nocturnus suffered many losses tonight—"

"No more than Avance," Hugo growled.

"And Cosette has the lunar affiliation," Hermione concluded with a pained, shuddering exhale. Her palms were warm against Draco's chest.

Claude Arcand stiffened at the mention of the woman, his upper lip curling with disdain. Without looking up from her careful work with Draco's injuries, Florence released a sound reminiscent of disgust.

Hugo remained silent, his gaze focused on Draco, but Hermione's heart went out to him. Feeling her stare, his eyes flickered to hers, and she could see the depths of pain beneath his green irises.

Frowning, she asked quietly, "Are you alright?"

"No." He pressed his lips into a tight line, a knit between his brows. "I can't believe—" The words dropped off with a sharp breath, and he ran a rough hand down his face. Shaking off the emotion, he turned to face her fully. "What we _aren't_ considering here is the Order as a whole."

"We've left them behind," Hermione said, adrenaline racing once more as she shook her head. "I don't know what we can do—"

"That isn't what I meant."

At the somber tone to his voice, the rest of them looked up, and Hermione felt a frisson of fear. "Please elaborate."

Hugo sighed, looking down once more at Draco's hauntingly immobile form. The only way Hermione could feel that he was alive was through the faint pulse of magic in her wrist.

"The Order is loyal to the affiliation," he said at last.

With a sharp gasp, Hermione processed his words, feeling her heart plummet into the pit of her stomach. Attempting to steady the racing of her pulse, she said, "They are loyal to the Lunae Ortus."

"Not," Hugo said quietly, "when the Lunae Ortus is not in command of the affiliation."

The words felt clumsy in her ears and just out of reach as Hermione only stared at him, shaking her head.

Florence whispered something that sounded like a string of French curses. Claude slammed a hand into the wall, and all of them jumped.

Unsteadily, Hugo went on. "When the affiliation was rent from Draco's body—from what I've read, and keep in mind this is ancient and poorly documented—the allegiances of Nocturnus would have _shifted_."

"Shifted," Hermione echoed, feeling the hot sting of tears once more. "To Cosette."

Hugo's lips thinned.

The air in the room felt painfully tense, and Hermione couldn't manage the racing thoughts in her brain. "How didn't we know this? How did—"

"It just happens." Carding a hand through his dusty hair, Hugo paced alongside the table. "Without a Lunae in control of the lunar affiliation, Nocturnus cannot exist. It is part of the ancient magic of the Nocturnus oaths. But since, in this case, the affiliation was _appropriated_—"

"Stolen," Hermione hissed, her hands warming steadily with her ire and casting a faint glow around the immediate area, though they remained firm against Draco. Sucking in a breath, she added, "Then how come you and I—"

"It must be because we're on the Council," he mused. "The expanded oaths are direct to the Lunae Ortus."

Her heart beat with such an anxious voracity that it hurt in her chest as her gaze frantically sought out Hugo's once more. "So Dagomir—"

"Is in a really unpleasant situation right now," Hugo finished with a scowl. "I can't say for certain about the guards."

"She didn't care," she whispered, a breath hitching in her throat. "Avance was so outnumbered, but her plan all along was to seize the loyalty of the Nocturnus Order instead."

Hugo huffed a muted, "_Bitch_."

Silence descended once more, but Hermione couldn't control the rage building within her, her magic roaring in her veins and her ears.

Tears seeped from Florence's eyes and down her cheeks even as she carefully applied ointment to a deep gash on Draco's temple. Claude Arcand had taken to pacing the room, muttering to himself in French.

It vaguely occurred to Hermione in that moment that the Arcands weren't Nocturnus and weren't privy to any of the information being discussed—but they had offered their assistance and hospitality with no questions asked, despite the risk the situation presented to their family.

And by the sounds of it, they would need as many allies as they could get.

Hugo glanced once more towards the affiliation emanating from her hands, something flitting across his face Hermione couldn't quite place.

Startled, she suddenly looked around. "Is Meila not here?"

"She is here," Claude announced, "but I've silenced her room. It is perhaps for the best if she is not present for this."

A flicker of shame crept into her stomach, and Hermione frowned. "I apologise for the risk we've put your family at with our presence here tonight."

"We will relocate you to a new safe house," Hugo added with a feeble attempt at a smile. "As soon as we know it's safe to leave. At this point… we don't know who we can or cannot trust."

"It is understandable," Florence said, taking a step back away from Draco as she released the tension from her shoulders. "His wounds are tended to for the moment—he had a significant head injury."

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, forcing a thick swallow.

Florence had mended most of his cuts, her paste diminishing his bruising before their eyes. With his eyes gently closed, Draco could have been asleep. But something far more insidious lay beneath the surface of his skin, and Hermione found herself wondering whether it was only the flow of her magic that kept him tethered to life.

Hugo conjured a chair as he stepped away into the kitchen with the Arcands, leaving Hermione alone with Draco's silent form.

Now that the initial rush of activity had stalled and his physical injuries had been tended to, she found fatigue and exhaustion creeping in along with the despair in her soul.

Careful to keep one hand on him at all times, Hermione swept the other through his pale hair, ducking in to press a lingering kiss to his temple. "I need you to wake up," she whispered against his cold skin. Her voice broke with a shudder. "I can't do this on my own."

Tears escaped once more from her eyes, and Hermione wondered how she hadn't yet cried herself dry of moisture. Cradling his face between her hands and observing the silver light breaking from the connection, she attempted to block out the empty shards of her heart.

Her magic pulsed and shuddered, skipping a beat as it coursed within her blood, and her eyes startled open wide.

Draco hadn't moved, but something felt strange as her magic narrowed in, tingling along the pads of her fingers where they touched his skin. With a cautious breath held, she grappled once more for his wrist, pressing her thumb firmly against the crescent.

The magic pulsed again, stronger this time.

A sharp breath escaped her lips. Feebly, she called for Hugo, who rushed into the room. He stood by her shoulder, his expression blank as he stared at Draco, and the next shot of magic pushed through her fingers with enough strength that her fingers twitched against his crescent.

"Shit," Hugo breathed, crouching down on his heels so he could see closer and taking Draco's other wrist into his hand. "His pulse is a little stronger."

Relief chased through Hermione even as she released a strangled sob. "We shouldn't wake him."

"No," Hugo agreed with a frown. "I think we need to let his body come out of this naturally. We don't know the implications of any of this—but he's _alive_."

"Alive," Hermione echoed, a watery smile crossing her face. Her gaze remained fixed on Hugo as she quietly said, "We'll need to figure out the status of the rest of the council."

Hugo's face darkened as he twisted his mouth to the side. "We know about my father and Tressel." With a flippant shrug that belied the tension in his shoulders, he added, "Difficult to say whether Glenneth would have escaped Tressel's spell—so many things happened in those last minutes. Oro, I haven't seen in hours. And Dagomir."

"I didn't see Oro either," Hermione mused. "Not that we can assume anything based on that. And Dagomir… well, he was with us all night, wasn't he?"

"Until he led us to Cosette," Hugo added, his tone free of judgement. A pregnant pause hung between them, and Hermione worried her bottom lip. "I want to believe Dagomir is on our side."

"_Still_," Hermione clarified.

"Still."

The nudges of Draco's magic continued, increasing in pace and pressure, and Hermione channelled everything she could into the fledgling affiliation magic that had accumulated in the very tips of her fingers.

Through the curtains of the Arcands' sitting room, the sky was still black, and Hermione felt as if she'd lost all concept of time. It was as if days had passed since they had emerged from the war room at the fortress, and she absently twined her fingers with those of Draco's marked hand.

His chest shifted subtly, and a hint of a grimace crossed his face.

Relief and a faint glimmer of hope settled in her chest, gaze fixed on him as she clenched his hand tighter still. Reaching to sweep his hair away from his eyes, she waited with anticipation.

Hugo stepped back, giving her space, but she could feel the security of his presence lingering behind her, and she wondered at what it had cost him to turn from his father. How he could possibly be alright.

"Hugo," she said quietly; at his low hum, her head fell into a tilt. "We're going to figure this out—I don't know how, and I don't know when, but…" He was silent for the first time she could remember, and a shuddering breath fell from her lips. "I'm sorry."

When Hugo still didn't speak, Hermione glanced back at him over her shoulder; emotion shone in his eyes as he stared at the window. At last, he said, "_I_ am the one who should be apologising. My Lunae Ortus is laid here on the verge of death because I was unable to realise something was awry." He paused, collecting his thoughts for a moment. "I'm finding it difficult to accept that this isn't all a terrible dream. And… I will do what is required of me to make this right."

A low, pained chuckle pulled them both back to the situation at hand. Draco's eyelids fluttered open; his mouth was set with a tight grimace, and his grip felt feeble in hers.

Quietly, he clipped, "Watch who you're calling on the verge of death."

"Draco," Hermione breathed, warmth stinging at her eyes as she sought out his stare.

His voice was hoarse, as if his throat was raw. "I feel like I've been thrown from a cliff." He attempted to sit up but settled back down within moments, grinding his teeth together. "Where are we?"

Sweeping his hair back, she stroked his temple, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead to check for a fever. "We're in Vilnius." Draco's eyes snapped up towards something behind her, and she turned to see the Arcands lingering in the entrance to the sitting room, worry etched on their faces.

He gave a nod with a murmured, "Thank you for your hospitality." The Arcands nodded in return.

Then he stared at Hugo for a long moment, awkward silence hanging in the room.

At last, Draco announced, "I don't know what we are going to do now."

Florence Arcand paced forward, casting a few diagnostic spells, and Draco eyed her warily for a second before melting back into his makeshift cot. He looked more fatigued than Hermione felt.

"Don't worry about that right now," Hermione soothed. "You just need to recover."

Fixing his gaze upon the ceiling above him, Draco drawled, "I don't suppose anyone found my wand."

Her mouth fell open and panic seized at her heart; Hermione could feel Hugo's stare on the side of her head. She tried to recall the scenario as it had played out before Hugo pulled them both away with the Portkey, but she couldn't remember having seen Draco's wand.

And in the ensuing panic that had followed, she didn't even think of it.

Quietly, Draco added, "It was on the ground. I think. I don't exactly remember the last moments."

"I didn't see it, Lunae." Hugo stepped forward, his expression grim.

Still, Draco gazed at the ceiling as if he couldn't bear to see anyone else. He flexed his hand, the shimmer of magic that had flowed easily just hours earlier still and quiet. Not even a hint of the affiliation shone from the veins in his palm.

"It's fine," he breathed with a heavy exhale, moisture breaking from the corners of his eyes. "I wouldn't be able to use it anyways."

At the ominous declaration, Hermione and Hugo shared a glance.

But Draco went on before anyone could speak, his tone both dark and defeated.

"My magic is gone."

* * *

**Author's Note: **You're all such troopers for sticking with me this far, and now as we move into the third part of this story. Thank you so much for reading - your feedback and support means the world to me.

Alpha love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, and beta squishes to ravenslight.


	39. Chapter 39

Hermione wasn't certain given the way she'd drifted in and out of consciousness, but she thought several hours had passed. After the chaos settled in the Arcands' sitting room, they had been gracious enough to prepare their extra bedroom for Hermione and Draco's usage; Hugo had insisted upon sleeping on the sofa, but Hermione thought he simply wanted to be alone.

She didn't know how he was holding up so well after facing such a massive betrayal from his own father just hours earlier.

There were more things to worry about than she knew how to handle, and without any sleep the idea seemed futile.

Once Draco had awoken, he seemed weak but mentally clear, which had relieved her fears he might have been adversely affected by Glenneth's rending spell. Other than the fact, of course, that he was bereft of _all_ his magic, not only the affiliation.

It was strange, given she had felt the nudge of magic when he had been returning to consciousness, but maybe it was the echo of her own magic or the intermingling of her natural core magic and the magic of the affiliation.

Just _maybe_ it meant his magic was simply exhausted or locked away somewhere; she didn't dare voice the thought.

At any rate, she was desperate to escape the despair and ready to succumb to the pull of sleep.

She had assisted Draco into the Arcands' spare room, and while he pulled her into her arms, he didn't speak, his stare fixed once more on the ceiling. Hermione couldn't even imagine the depth of the thoughts coursing through his mind, and she wasn't ready to ask.

He would share with her when he was able, and until that point, she wasn't willing to press. They had all seen so many horrors that night, and to come out of it not only knowing Cosette had taken the affiliation but also that it had neutered Draco's core magic as well must have left him feeling so defeated.

It left _her_ feeling defeated and without any idea of what they could do next.

Not when their enemy possessed the deep well of lunar magic and controlled the entirety of the Nocturnus Order.

With those thoughts stirring her mind, Hermione drifted in and out of an uneasy and restless sleep.

* * *

Draco couldn't have managed sleep if he'd tried. But despite his mental and physical fatigue, he didn't even allow himself to make an attempt.

Everything they'd worked towards was gone. They had been lucky to escape with their lives, but there was only so much they could do to evade Cosette now that she had the lunar affiliation.

His hand flexed into a hard fist, his fingernails biting into the flesh of his palm. Draco wasn't sure whether his magic had also been seized by the spell Glenneth had used or whether his magical core was merely damaged and stifled. Whether his magic might recover.

In that moment, everything felt hopeless, and bitter tears stung at his eyes. He couldn't even fight them as they broke, trailing silently down his cheeks and onto the pillow as he stared blankly at the white ceiling.

Hermione had managed a couple fitful hours of sleep at his side, and he frowned. It would have been entirely his fault if she'd died. They had been certain the affiliation would be enough.

And maybe they had missed the signs. Maybe Draco ought to have realised that Elias Bergen wasn't truly on their side. Had he simply ignored the fact that his chief adviser had been working against him all along? Had he been so blind?

With the ferocity of his fist, his nails dug into his palm, sharp indents lingering as he finally released the pressure.

_Everything_ he had tried to do had failed.

He had failed the entire Nocturnus Order, and the rest of his council. His mother—his _wife_.

Hermione, his beautiful bride, the woman who had become _absolutely everything_. And he had just as good as signed her death warrant.

Draco had no way to protect her anymore—to protect any of them.

As if his thoughts had stirred her awake, her eyes blinked open though she looked far from rested. Shifting so she could use his arm as a pillow, she stared at him in silence for a long moment.

At last she whispered, "Are you alright?"

He couldn't lie to her on top of everything else. "No."

Although he could sense she wanted to say something more, she merely thinned her lips and nodded.

One additional challenge that had been in the back of his mind, ever since things had gone awry at the fortress in Italy, was the safety of his mother. Although technically a member of the Nocturnus Order, as his mother she was afforded certain options. While they had prepared for the battle and before they'd departed for Italy, Draco had pleaded with her to go somewhere safe. There were many Malfoy properties across the continent, and he had given her a Portkey to one in Spain.

He didn't know whether she had gone.

Although he supposed now, whether she had gone to Spain or if she had been somewhere in the mass of fighters in Italy, her allegiance would have shifted from her own son.

Unless there was some discrepancy along with the fact that she was the mother of the Lunae Ortus. He could only hope her loyalty remained to him and not to the affiliation.

It was one of many things they would now have to face.

Hermione was still silent at his side, and she took his marked wrist between her hands, sweeping her thumb across the dull crescent.

As he tensed, he could feel the hollow echo of her magic, but he couldn't feel the sparkle of the bonds between them.

"Earlier," she mused quietly, bringing his wrist to her lips, "I could feel magic through this mark. I can't help but wonder whether your magic is somehow dormant rather than _gone_."

Draco sighed, resisting the urge to withdraw his wrist. He felt impotent and futile, the bleakness of it shimmering below the surface of his skin with a barely contained fury. "I know you're only trying to help—"

"Don't," she whispered, cutting him off. When he blinked doleful eyes at her, she frowned. "Don't pull back from me. Now more than ever, we need to be in this together."

"Technically," he drawled, averting his stare once more to the ceiling in an effort to combat the harsh sting of moisture, the anger and adrenaline building in his veins. "If the affiliation is gone, the Order is broken up, and if I'm not the Lunae Ortus anymore, our marriage contract is null."

The words hung in tense silence for long enough that he felt a hot burn of shame creep along his throat and into his face; he didn't dare look at her. He _couldn't_.

At last Granger whispered, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he muttered, voice breaking, "there's nothing tying you to me anymore. You don't need to stay here."

Silence descended once more, and Draco ignored the painful rending of his heart—a thousand times stronger than the empty void where his magic had pulsed. For as much as he loved her, he couldn't force her to stay. Couldn't ask her to continue risking her life now that they had no way to fight back.

Unable to take the tumultuous raging of conflicted emotions, Draco extracted his arm from beneath her head without looking her way and rose from the bed. He dragged an aggravated hand through his hair as, in his periphery, Granger shifted to lean back against the headboard.

Finally she said quietly, "Is that what you want?" Before he could answer, she pushed on. "You just want to, what—_walk away_ from this now that—"

"Granger," he huffed.

A stifled sob was her only response.

As he fell back against the wall, dropping his face into his hands and attempting to draw shallow breaths, he heard rustling and, moments later, felt her presence in front of him. Forming his hands into fists, he clenched his jaw hard and bit out a hissed, "You don't deserve this."

"You do _not_," she hissed, scowling at him, "get to push me away." Her chest brushed against his; she was so close, but her eyes flashed with fury. "I am _not_ going to let you deal with this on your own—whether you want me here or not." The ire dropped from her voice, and her shoulders slumped, voice falling to a feeble whisper. "I knew what I was getting into when I married you. And _don't you dare_ think you can block me out after everything we've been through."

He stared at her for a long moment, chest heaving with unspoken emotions. Her eyes shone with moisture, despair etched in the lines of her face.

Exhaling a breath through his nose, he caught her wrist in his hand, grazing her crescent with his fingertips. He felt nothing in return.

"Hermione," he began, forcing a thick swallow. "I can't protect you anymore."

He watched, helpless, as tears broke from her eyes, drawing silent tracks down her cheeks. Without a word, she pressed her hand to his chest, silvery white light emanating from her palm.

"Maybe," she whispered, drawing a fortifying breath, "it's time I protect you."

In silence, they both stared as the magic grew, expanding against his chest and pushing outwards. A furrow of determination sat on her brow, and Draco could only gape, watching as the fledgling affiliation with which she had struggled for months grew blinding.

She drew her hand back, releasing the magic into the room to hover around them. Draco's heart raced as he met her stare once more, lips parted but without words.

At last he choked out a quiet, "You."

Granger eyed him tentatively, a thin sheen of moisture on her temples from the exertion.

"I should have died," he breathed, gazing at her. "When my magic—I _felt_ like—"

He didn't have the words to describe the vague, hazy memories. The feeling of his very life essence being drawn from him like poison from a wound.

Shoulders dropping, she once more pulled his wrist into her hands. "Please," she whispered, "we need to do this together." Tears coursed freely down her cheeks as she finished, "Because I don't know how to deal with any of this without you."

Draco drew her smaller form into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. His own eyes blurred as she quietly cried, and he buried a hand into her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I love you," he murmured, feeling his own heart shattering. The thought of letting go of control and the utter helplessness of facing any of this without his magic burned in his chest. "We're here. We're together."

Muffled against his chest, she whispered, "We're alive."

He supposed it was all they had right now, so it would have to be enough.

* * *

After a long, steaming shower, Draco felt some of his sensibilities return. He felt awkward and clumsy without being able to use even simple spells, and it was an exercise in futility to ignore the creeping dread in the back of his mind that he might not get his magic back.

Even if he had his wand—and in fact, he had attempted to use Hermione's—the feel of his magic in his veins was gone, leaving an emptiness in its stead.

Seeing the way she had manipulated the affiliation with assertive force earlier had been startling when she had once struggled to gain control over it. He couldn't help but think back on those final moments, feeling the life drained from him along with his magic.

Draco wasn't entirely certain how he wasn't dead.

A person wasn't meant to have their magic ripped from within. He hadn't even realised it was possible, and, surely, it could have caused irreparable damage. Perhaps he ought to have been grateful he was functioning, mentally and physically, when by all accounts, he ought to have died.

A soft, creeping suspicion suggested he should have.

But he could remember the warmth of Hermione's magic, nudging gently at the hollow chasm of his own as he slowly roused in the middle of the night. He couldn't help but wonder whether her command of the affiliation had somehow saved him.

Hermione was gone when he returned to the room, towelling the moisture from his hair, and his heart jumped with fear until he saw she had transfigured a fresh shirt and a pair of trousers. The crown cufflinks she had gifted him lay on top, extracted from where he had affixed them into his battle armour, and he felt another wave of emotion assault him.

He dressed, his hands clumsy and slow with fatigue, before emerging into the Arcands' sitting room.

There was nothing they could do about it just yet, but they would need to relocate the family. Their small Nocturnus presence alone was enough to put the safehouse at risk if Avance had a way of tracking them down.

Hermione and Hugo were in discussion in the sitting room, while the Arcands sat in the kitchen.

"Hi, Draco!" Meila exclaimed, flashing him a grin.

Florence glanced up from where she had been preparing lunch, and Claude offered him a nod.

"Hello," Draco returned with a hesitant nod before turning to the older couple. "I cannot even begin to thank you for everything. We'll be out of your space as soon as we can manage."

"The wards are extensive," Claude said, straightening his shoulders. "You saved my family—you and yours are welcome here until it is safe for you to go."

Unable to trust himself to speak, Draco only nodded once more then joined Hermione and Hugo.

The latter leapt to his feet, dropping his head into a bow, and Draco waved him off with a grimace. "None of that here, please." He took a seat on the sofa beside Hermione, before facing Hugo.

Pressing his hands together, he began with a tentative, "It seems to me we need to figure out a plan."

Brusquely, Hugo announced, "I don't have one. _Yet_." The man looked terrible, as if he hadn't slept at all, and he took a long sip from a mug of black coffee. "I don't know how we're supposed to take on Avance with no army; and more importantly, they know everything about us, while we _obviously_ know nothing about them."

Hugo didn't bother masking the bitterness in his voice, and Draco found himself eyeing his friend cautiously. At last he leaned back in his seat, folding his hands across his front.

"It means a lot," Draco said, glancing at Hermione, "that you stood with us last night."

Hugo's eyes flit between them, confusion marring his features. "You can't have reasonably expected I would betray you as well." As silence fell upon them all, he grimaced and added, "Though I suppose that might have been believable earlier on."

Softly, Hermione said, "I don't think we were expecting anyone from the council to betray us."

As he looked between them, Draco clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. "I don't know why we didn't see it. I wanted to believe that everyone was—" Blowing out a breath, he slumped in his seat. He couldn't even dredge forth the anger the situation might have called for. The betrayal of his closest adviser, the depletion of his magic. He felt numb.

"We didn't think anyone from the council would betray us," Hugo clipped with a scowl, "because who in their right mind would break their oaths?"

At that moment, Meila drifted into the room, distributing three plates of sandwiches and crisps. Draco stared at his meal, feeling an odd welling of emotion at the simple gesture. Swallowing, he bit out, "Thank you, Meila."

The girl gave a hesitant sort of nod before retreating back into the kitchen.

Despite that the Arcands had been more than hospitable, he felt as if the conversation they needed to have was too private and, out of habit, reached for his wand. When his fingers grazed his pocket, he grimaced, pursing his lips.

Following his train of thought, Hermione cast a quick _Muffliato_ before giving his fingers a brief squeeze. Draco returned the gesture but found he wasn't quite able to look her way.

Sympathy shone in Hugo's stare, and Draco couldn't look at him, either. He took a bite of his sandwich, observing the grains of the bread with great interest.

But Hermione turned towards Hugo. "I've not actually come across what happens when someone breaks the Nocturnus oaths. And to that effect, I suppose we won't very easily be able to return to the Manor to collect anything."

Looking up, Draco realised he'd never learned either.

After a tense pause, Hugo said, "It isn't known. What happens to oathbreakers. All anyone knows is that it isn't a good idea."

Draco made a face. "What do you mean, it isn't known? Haven't there ever been oathbreakers in the past?"

"There have," Hugo allowed, snapping a crisp in two. "But it's always different. The magic responds uniquely depending on the betrayal." He looked slightly green, and Draco glanced away; he could only imagine the depths of turmoil going on in the other man's mind.

Not only had his father betrayed him, but he couldn't reach out to his sister or his girlfriend while the loyalties of everyone in the Nocturnus Order were under question.

"So _treason_, betraying the Lunae Ortus, and seizing the affiliation—" Hermione said, her tone heavy. "I can't imagine that will go over well. How could this possibly have been worth it?"

"My only thought," Hugo managed, pulverising another of his crisps into crumbs, "is that Cosette must have promised him something." When he looked back up, his eyes were red with a glossy sheen. "My father has always loved Nocturnus—since I was young, he's taught me everything; he's always had the utmost respect for the old traditions. I can't…" Swallowing, he steeled his countenance. "I can't imagine why he's done this."

"You told me the house of Bergen held the ruling seat before the house of Malfoy," Draco said, dragging a hand down his face. It would help if they could face the situation with reason and logic. "At the fortress, your father claimed Nocturnus belonged to the Bergen line and that the house of Malfoy was never fit to rule."

A bitter twist pulled at Hugo's lips; Hermione sat picking at her meal, looking oddly small.

"And at the time," Draco ground out," you told me it's simply how Nocturnus operates."

"It is!" Hugo exclaimed, tugging at his hair as he jumped to his feet. "It _was_. The House of Bergen didn't have an appropriate heir to Ascend, so the Malfoy line stepped in." Shaking his head, he turned mournful eyes on the pair of them. "I don't know what my father thinks about those times."

"Because everything was so poorly documented," Hermione spoke softly. "I didn't even realise that about the house of Bergen."

Silence fell once more, and Draco found himself staring at the ceiling. "We need a plan."

"I spent most of the night thinking about this," Hugo admitted, slumping back into his seat. Draco could see the exhaustion on his face and in the set of his shoulders. "And we are, quite clearly, outnumbered. We don't have an army, and we don't know who we can trust. We can't go back to Malfoy Manor, and the Nocturnus castle will have been compromised as well."

"Peachy," Draco muttered, discouraged as the issues climbed in front of them. "So what _do_ we have?"

"We have us," Hugo said, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. "The Arcands are supportive. Your mother?"

"I don't know," Draco muttered, leaning forward. "I asked her to leave if things became unsafe."

"She must have," Hugo confirmed with a nod. "I don't believe she was at the fortress during the battle."

"We have to hope we have Dagomir," Hermione broke in, worrying her bottom lip, "and the guards."

Hugo nodded again. "We can attempt to reach out to Dagomir—but remember, he remained on the battlefield when the allegiances of all Nocturnus switched."

The thought didn't ease the nausea already churning in Draco's stomach after everything Dagomir had done to protect them.

"Beyond Nocturnus?" Hugo's brows lifted, and for the first time Draco felt a flicker of hope. They'd been looking so narrowly at the situation that he'd almost forgotten they had other allies.

"The British Ministry," Hermione offered quietly. "Minister Shacklebolt is supportive."

"Our friends," Draco listed, though the effort felt like one of futility. "This isn't enough to mount a fight against the entirety of the Nocturnus Order _plus_ what remains of Avance when Cosette and Elias have the affiliation. Not even close."

The three of them jumped, startled, to see Claude Arcand leaning against the wall, a grim set to his mouth. It was only then that Draco realised their _Muffliato_ spell had worn off.

Gruffly, Arcand announced, "You have France."

"France," Hugo groaned. "Our appointed Minister was Nocturnus."

"Not the Minister," Arcand conceded, "but the Ministry. The citizens. Your work in France, though you may not have realised it at the time, gave hope to the people."

"Centaurs and werewolves," Draco muttered, quelling the frisson of hope in his chest. "I can't ask them to fight this battle."

Hugo's mouth pulled to the side as he finished his meal. "We might not have to."

Even though they had people still on their side, it felt like an odd, thrown together jumble of allies. Especially in comparison to the polish of the Nocturnus Order. It didn't feel like nearly enough, and it would be an uphill climb to try and coordinate anything at all when Avance would be watching for them, waiting for them to emerge, and ready to strike.

And he didn't even have the most basic use of his magic, rendering him useless in a fight.

Fatigue blurred the back of Draco's mind as he considered what other avenues they might have.

"We have one other thing they don't know about," Hugo said quietly, and they all turned to face him.

He glanced towards Hermione, her hands clasped anxiously in her lap and a soft silver sheen breaking from her palms. For the first time since they had landed in Italy, Draco felt a hint of a smile pull at his mouth.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're all keeping well and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	40. Chapter 40

For the rest of the day, conversation stayed light and flippant, none of them keen to address the issues which now plagued them from all sides. Draco wished he could reach out to his mother but didn't know how.

He still hadn't slept, and Draco felt almost delirious with his exhaustion.

Beneath the surface of it all, he felt the pressure mounting. They were essentially nomads now—a cause but not a home. He didn't know who they could trust or how they could find anyone. Even Dagomir, who Draco was certain was on their side, could have been compromised.

If they were to attempt to meet up with him, and if he had been captured when Nocturnus fell, it could be disastrous.

"I can't help but wonder," Hermione said, curled up at his side in bed that night, "what Elias Bergen got from the whole situation. What was worth breaking his Nocturnus oaths without knowing the consequences. Hugo said Cosette must have promised him something."

Drawing her closer, Draco planted a kiss to her hair. "I've been thinking the same. If he wanted to rule the Nocturnus Order but ultimately was unable to do so, maybe… this was the second best thing." He gave a shrug, contemplating for a moment. "When I didn't select Cynthia Bergen as the Lunae Amor he was… unphased. Like he didn't care. I wonder whether it would have made a difference."

Hermione shifted in his embrace, discomfort marring her expression. "I doubt it. Bergen must have been working with Cosette all along."

"Not that I regret selecting you," he hurried to add, warmth tinging his face. "Even with how everything played out."

A secretive smile lingered on her lips as she eyed him sideways before leaning in and pressing her lips to his with a murmured, "Of course not."

Despite everything that had happened since they'd left the Nocturnus castle, that he had nearly died and lost his magic, and that Draco could barely keep his eyes open, he felt himself responding to her touch as always.

Dragging her nearer, he deepened the kiss, sweeping his hands along her sides as she shifted to straddle his lap.

Between kisses, she drew back, meeting his stare. "We're going to get through this."

With a self-deprecating huff of laughter, Draco held her face between his hands. The situation was so bleak it was either laugh or cry, and he was spent of despair. "I'm going to have to borrow your faith."

Pressing her lips softly to his again, she rested her forehead against his. "I'll try to dig up enough for us both." On another kiss, she whispered, "I love you."

"Love you," Draco murmured in return, his eyelids sliding shut in the comfort of her embrace.

Her warm laugh reached his ears as she shifted from his lap with a soft, "Get some sleep," and Draco didn't remember the rest.

* * *

Hermione awoke with the first hints of sun through the thin curtains, and a gentle peace swept through her at Draco fast asleep at her side, his expression soft. Quietly, she rose from bed and crept into the adjoining loo, showering and preparing for her day.

They felt startlingly cut off from the rest of the world, holed up in the Arcands' home though it had only been two nights. She couldn't help but wonder what was going on back at home and the events that had occurred following their abrupt departure from the Nocturnus fortress in Italy.

Without a safe way to reach anyone, they hadn't rushed an attempt, but it was time to learn what the situation was actually like. Of course, it was easier said than done when Elias Bergen knew so much about them and their acquaintances.

Contacting anyone without revealing their location would be a challenge, and Hermione was quite certain Cosette would be eager to finish the task of dismantling the Nocturnus Order.

It would be wishful thinking to imagine they would simply be left alone, and Hermione was a realist.

After numerous assurances from Hugo that the safety and protective wards on the Arcands' house extended beyond the garden, Hermione brewed a pot of tea and crept onto the front stoop for some fresh air.

They had spent the entire day before inside and the seclusion was beginning to get to her. A warm, early summer breeze danced across her face, and Hermione was grateful for some time alone to reflect.

And to practice.

Settling her mug on a small ceramic table, she focused on her hands, forcing herself to draw the powers of the affiliation forward.

Their current list of disadvantages was long, and even all of their possible allies combined wouldn't be enough to take on Cosette and the affiliation if she had claimed the loyalties of the former Nocturnus Order.

Even if they wanted to try, Hermione wasn't keen on subjecting her friends to such a thing. It would be like delivering them to a slaughter, given the way Cosette had no consideration for anyone else. Some small, malicious part of her hoped the consequences of Elias Bergen breaking his oaths were dire even as she found she didn't want to think of the man at all.

It had seemed evident Bergen was involved with Cosette in some capacity—maybe that's why he had done it. But the man had always seemed inherently logical, and Hermione suspected his reasons ran deeper than that. Maybe it _was_ connected to some old rivalry between the houses of Bergen and Malfoy that Hugo had thought long buried.

Perhaps it ran deeper than any of them yet knew.

Sucking in a long breath, Hermione doubled her efforts, forcing the affiliation to expand. She didn't care to blow a crater in the Arcands' yard and didn't know how else to test its power.

Summoning the affiliation had always come so easily to Draco, and it was with a great amount of effort that she had even done as much as she had at the moment, her heart pounding and a thin sheen of sweat breaking on her temples through the exertion.

Most likely it was due to the fact that he was the Lunae Ortus and the lunar affiliation was a natural part of his ascension, whereas she had merely developed her lunar powers through effort and practice.

It was encouraging to think that she could continue to strengthen the magic—but they were short on time and long on aspirations.

Hermione didn't know how it could all possibly come together.

According to the Arcands, there was a small magical population in Vilnius, which meant they would have access to an owl post office, and with any luck, they would be able to procure a Portkey. Although even if not, Hugo had shown a knack for obtaining unauthorised Portkeys more than once. At the least, they could Floo in directly, but they would just have to be more careful.

The fact remained that they needed to be smart with every move now.

Without a word, Hugo slipped into the seat beside her, cradling a mug of tea. He didn't comment on the affiliation she had gathered other than a wry, "Please don't shoot that at me."

Her lips twitched even as a dull throb began to pulse near the back of her temple. Huffing a sigh, she released her focus, holding the affiliation in her hands as she cast him a glance.

"Draco always makes it look so easy."

"Draco's the Lunae Ortus," Hugo returned. At least it confirmed her suspicions, but she felt disgruntled all the same. Quietly, he added, "No Lunae Amor on record has ever been able to develop full control over the affiliation. I consider us incredibly fortunate that you have."

Thinning her lips at the sentiment, she nodded. "I'll keep working on it."

Hugo took a sip of his tea, squinting into the sun. "I've been trying to determine the best way to reach Dagomir. If the guard oaths offer loyalty to the Lunae Ortus, it'll be a stroke of fortune. But he's the one in charge of the guard, and he keeps the details close."

"And what if he's been captured?"

"That's the issue."

"What we need to do—" Draco announced, dragging up a third chair; Hermione jumped, having failed to notice his arrival "—is dispatch a message that he'll understand without us revealing anything about our location or any details. In case he _has_ been captured, we need to know."

Frowning, Hugo stared between them. "What do we know about Dagomir to let him know it's us?"

Hermione considered the thought, grimacing. "I don't know very much about Dagomir at all. He's quite private, isn't he?"

"Quite," Draco echoed.

The three of them racked their brains for a moment before Hugo announced, "He's from Belgrade."

"That's a start." Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Hermione lifted her mug but didn't drink from it. "A way to let him know that we know him, and for him to realise it's us." She winced at her own poorly worded logic, but Draco nodded.

"Good. Hugo… you're in charge of that."

Hugo offered a sardonic smile.

Hermione went on. "Florence said she could direct us to the wizarding sector of Vilnius if we need any supplies or to send letters. I think we can reasonably send an owl to Harry."

"What about Minister Shacklebolt?" Leaning forward, Draco swept a hand through his hair. "Although realistically, the fewer people we directly contact, the better. If my mother went to the estate in Spain, we can Floo there and, at the very least, get out of the Arcands' space."

"I'll ask Harry to speak to Kingsley." Head falling to the side, Hermione thought through the logistics of it. "One owl to Harry and one to Dagomir. If we can travel directly to the estate in Spain, that's for the best."

Nodding, Hugo pressed his hands together. "We'll keep our footprint as small as we can manage. Which reminds me, the Arcands don't want to move again. They don't believe our presence here has compromised their wards since the three of us remain the only secret keepers."

"Fine," Draco said, waving a hand. "It's one less thing to worry about right now."

They all shared a silent nod in agreement, and Hermione felt her mind already tracking through the next steps, growing jumbled.

"If we can reach Dagomir," she began, dropping off with a grimace. The dull headache from overexerting her grip on the affiliation was beginning to grow in pressure, and she took a long sip of her lukewarm tea.

Draco dropped a reassuring hand to her back. "We'll be able to learn more about the situation. And until then, we'll need to proceed with the other angle. If Minister Shacklebolt is able to help, he might need to be our feet in London until we can sort through the rest of it."

Rubbing at her head, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "I'll tell Harry to expect a Floo call, then. It's safer than divulging information via owl."

But Hugo and Draco both stared at her, matching furrows to their brows. Draco's hand on her back tensed. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she said, her tone a little breathy as she forced another thick gulp of tea. "Just a bit of a headache."

"Maybe Florence has something to help."

With a smile that felt a little too bright, Hermione nodded. "Shall we prepare to go into Vilnius?"

Hugo leaned back, folding his arms and swinging one ankle over the other knee. "Glamours, disillusionment," he listed, eyes tightening. "Plain clothes, I think."

"Polyjuice would be ideal," Hermione conceded. "But I can't imagine we have any of that handy."

"Let me just whip up a batch," Draco drawled, and the hint of a smirk on his lips was enough that she had to force herself from tearing up. He'd been so devastated since waking up without his magic, while she had expected him to be angry.

"We won't be able to access any of our bank vaults without drawing attention to ourselves," Hugo said, "and by extension, revealing our presence here in Vilnius—which could draw unwanted attention to the Arcands."

"I don't have much here with me," Hermione admitted. Thankfully she'd kept her small beaded bag tucked in her Nocturnus battle gear, but there wasn't much for money. "Maybe ten or twelve galleons worth."

Draco grimaced and added, "Everything is at the manor or the castle."

"I have…" Hugo scrounged in his pockets, drawing out a small handful of coins. "Seven galleons, nine sickles, and four knuts."

The three of them shared a tense smile, before Draco announced, "It'll have to do."

* * *

Through the entirety of their excursion into magical Vilnius, Draco was on edge. Florence Arcand had offered to show them the way, but they had been unwilling to put her at risk if something were to go wrong and they were discovered.

The street was small but featured the essentials. An apothecary, where Draco was able to pick up some supplies; he had a suspicion potions would come in handy. And if they could get to the Malfoy residence in Spain—which, at this point, he was hinging the majority of his hopes on the possibility—he would be able to access a cauldron and brewing equipment.

Hugo had drafted a letter to Dagomir, and from a quick glance at it from afar, all Draco could tell was that it was only a few words on a page, and he didn't think it was English. Meanwhile, Hermione had written a letter to Potter, requesting he keep watch for a private Floo call.

It was safer than putting any details on paper if their owl was intercepted. And they weren't willing to put anyone else at risk. Enough people had already died over the delusions of a madwoman. And if Draco had a say in it, only a few more would follow.

He hadn't yet informed Hugo that Elias Bergen was on that list.

However, the inconvenient fact remained that Draco still had no way to access his magic. At one end of the magical street was a grimy looking wand parlour, and he had checked his glamour before slipping in. But the wandmaker didn't seem to care who he was, and he also didn't seem phased by the fact that Draco couldn't produce magic with any of the wands.

But he had selected one all the same, imagining it to be the one that felt the best in his hand since he had no way of testing it.

After a few more brief stops, they had spent the majority of their pooled funds, and Draco was angry with himself that he hadn't been more prepared before leaving the castle for the fortress. Even Hermione had brought her extended bag, and while she had other supplies, money was in short supply.

It was another reason Draco was desperate to reach the residence in Granada. But most importantly, he hoped with every fibre of his being that his mother had escaped the battle in Italy and that she remained unaffected by the shift in allegiances.

If she had somehow been swayed towards Cosette, they would need to subdue her to keep their location a secret.

This was all, of course, ignoring the other potential result—that Narcissa had been among the fallen at the fortress. But it was the one possibility he refused to dwell on.

Enough things had gone wrong already, and Draco had to believe his mother had made it out.

He wanted to reach out to Blaise and Theo, if for no reason other than to find out whether any backlash over the situation had reached the rest of wizarding England. If news of Nocturnus' fall was public.

If nothing else, it would give them insight into Cosette and Bergen's plans. Draco's lip curled at the thought. He hoped the affiliation was giving them a difficult time. Merlin knew he hadn't been able to wrangle it within a matter of days.

He met back up with Hermione and Hugo at the top of the street, although he didn't immediately recognise them as they exited the owl post, glamoured as they were. Draco himself wore dark hair, a heavy brow, and a sturdier build.

At a subdued signal, they all retreated towards the Arcands' house, which was only a ten minute walk and afforded them a chance to get outside without too much concern.

"What did you say to Dagomir?" Draco asked as they approached the yard.

Hugo shrugged. "Just a time and location, near his hometown. And I wrote it in Swedish."

Hermione's head snapped up in alarm; she looked strange with blonde hair. "Does a location seem unsafe? If someone intercepts the mail, we could be walking into a trap."

"Not if we've prepared in advance," Hugo mused, "and swept the area."

Draco felt the shimmer of the thick wards across his skin as they re-entered the protection of the safehouse, and some of the tension sunk from his shoulders to know they were secure once more. But as Hugo had been unable to procure a Portkey, they would have to Floo directly into the Granada home.

Having spent two days lingering in Vilnius, Draco was restless and anxious to learn _anything_ about the situation, so the three of them had decided to leave shortly thereafter.

Hugo reinforced the wards, ensuring none had faltered by their presence in the home and the yard, before they ventured inside. The Arcands were gracious, suggesting they were happy to help.

Florence pushed a small bag of potions into his hands, her eyes shimmering, and Draco was oddly touched by the gesture. Although a number of years younger, the woman reminded him in certain ways of his own mother.

"Thank you," he managed with a sharp nod, "For your care and hospitality. I cannot say how much we appreciate it."

Claude offered a stern nod in return, looking between the three of them. "Should you need our assistance again, you'll have it."

Hugo's expression faltered as he clapped the man on the shoulder. Meila jumped forward, hugging each of them in turn with a warm exuberance, and the tense atmosphere dissolved.

"Thank you," Hermione said, as the group of them crowded around the fireplace. She clasped Florence's hand in her own for a moment. "For everything."

Florence's returning smile was warm.

And before Draco could stand to be tempted to stay somewhere comfortable and safe, he clasped a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the grate. Within moments, the three of them were gone.

* * *

The first thing Hermione noticed upon entry to the Malfoy residence in Granada, Spain was a warm, welcoming colour scheme of terracotta and sandy beige.

The second thing was that the house appeared untouched.

She didn't have to say anything to see the hope slough from Draco's shoulders, his face stoic but stare flitting around.

Without the loving touch of house elves, a thin layer of dust had accumulated on the floor and the furnishings; a stale acridity hung in the air, as if undisturbed for some time.

Hugo ventured a few steps into the sitting room into which they had emerged, but Draco hesitated, carefully scanning the space. Hermione walked up alongside him, slipping her hand into his. Though he glanced her way, his grasp remained loose, and it was a long moment before anyone spoke.

"At least we have a safe place," Hugo drawled, idly toying with a figurine on the mantle.

Draco's eyes were narrowed, but his lips pursed, and she didn't think he was keen to respond.

So she ventured forward, dragging him along by extension, and peered into the next room, a large airy foyer. From what she could tell, the residence was large. Nothing like the manor, but they could easily use it as a new base of operations.

When Draco didn't respond, she glanced his way, her voice dropping. "Narcissa is smart—if and when it's safe to do so, she'll join us."

At last he bit out, "Unless she's no longer loyal to us. In which case, it's a massive risk to stay here."

The thought hadn't quite registered with Hermione in that way; Narcissa had a Portkey to directly access the villa, and if she were to bring Avance with her…

"I wish we knew more about this," Hermione said, some of her frustration seeping through. "About the seizure of the affiliation and the allegiances of the Nocturnus Order."

"It's so theoretical," Hugo admitted, looking uncertain. "In my knowledge, the affiliation has only been seized by rogue members from within the Order itself—and even then, it was so long ago that the information is insubstantial."

Gently, Draco extracted his hand from Hermione's, and quietly he asked, "Will one of you please ward the property? I'm going to see about doing something useful."

Despair tugged at her heart at the transparency of his melancholy spirit, but Hermione merely watched as he ventured further into the house. A spasm of fear swept through her at the thought of someone entering the home, and Draco having no magic with which to protect himself.

But as they watched him walk away, a slump to his shoulders, Hugo murmured, "He just needs some time. The disappointments are stacking up."

Hermione managed an uneasy nod and drew her wand to set to work.

* * *

He couldn't contain the wild churning in his head, the frantic pulsing of his heart. The affiliation was gone; he had no way to use his magic; he didn't know whether his mother was loyal or whether she was even still alive. For all he knew, she had been at the fortress and hadn't made it out.

They had covered a lot of ground, and he thought he would have seen a glimpse of her at some point during the fight. It was the only thing that gave him any hope at all.

All he could do for the time being was to attempt to do something of use, and the best way to stem the anxiety in his heart was to make himself busy. The villa had a small potions lab in the basement; it wasn't anything as elaborate as the one he'd operated at the manor, but it offered a few cauldrons and other equipment he would need.

Since they had left most of their things at the Nocturnus castle and he had no way to return to Malfoy Manor undetected, it would be prudent to begin a few useful medicinal brews.

In the back of his mind, Draco considered the thought of brewing up a potent poison. If he couldn't use his magic, he could still come up with a different way to take out Cosette. But now, with the full force of the Nocturnus Order at her command, it would be useless.

He wished he knew more about the situation. How had Glenneth been pulled in by an Imperius curse when he was such a powerful mage? Was the spell he had used the only means of drawing forth the affiliation?

Was Glenneth still alive, and if so, was he still under Bergen's control?

If they could somehow wrest the affiliation _back… _It was a dangerous consideration when they were at a complete disadvantage on every front.

As he set to work, Draco felt peace and tranquility spread through him the way it always did when he focused on a complicated brew. It was something he could do without magic, although having a wand would certainly have sped up the process. But at that moment, Draco was keen on anything to distract his mind.

His mother was out there, and he had to believe her vows were of loyalty to him.

The entire situation was presently rife with uncertainty, and he could only hope there were others still on his side. With any luck, Hugo would be able to meet up with Dagomir, although that in itself was taking a risk if the Head of the Guard had betrayed them as well.

It was a bitter thought, to consider that so few of the council were actually on his side.

Once more, he berated himself for his naiveté in trusting Bergen.

But it was no good now; the hands had been played, and all he could do was adjust course and alter his strategy. Which, as of now, was nonexistent.

Carefully, he diced some roots, scraping them into the cauldron. For the first time since he had awoken at the Arcands' home, he felt some semblance of control. This was something he could manage, and for several hours, he lost himself in the meticulous work.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much as always for reading. I appreciate you all so much.

Alpha and beta squad creds to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	41. Chapter 41

Draco observed the scene before him. He had awoken at dawn and ventured outside, feeling the warm air of the early morning on his face. The Spanish villa sat on a large open field, and the sunrise embedded a foreign peace in his soul.

Despite that he couldn't feel his own magic, he could sense the shimmer of Hermione's in the wards and enchantments protecting the estate, and though it was a poor substitute for the freely coursing magic of the Lunae bonds he so greatly missed, it was oddly comforting to feel her magical signature dancing along his skin.

Now, he had returned to the house to find Hermione and Hugo eating toast and sipping mugs of coffee in the kitchen. Draco selected a slice of rye from the stack, and a smile tugged at his lips when Hermione handed him a jar of marmalade without him asking.

They must have scrounged up some food from the nearby village while he had been brewing the day before. But that didn't quite make sense when they had used up all but a few sickles in Vilnius, and he frowned, taking a bite of his toast, before he heard soft scuffling footsteps.

"Podski," he exclaimed, his brows flickering with surprise as he glanced at Hermione. Somehow, the thought hadn't even occurred to him that the elves of Malfoy Manor _were_ still loyal to him. With his father in prison, he was the Malfoy patriarch, and no one else could demand information of the elf. Even so, elves wouldn't have been able to get through the wards at the safehouse. "It's good to see you."

Podski dropped into a deep bow. "Podski is ever so pleased to see Master!"

Draco leaned in, fixing the elf with a hard stare. "Podski, you are not to share anything we say here with anyone—even the other elves. In fact, I'd like you to stay here with us and not return to the Manor." At the elf's eager nod, he sighed. "Have you seen my mother since we left for Italy?"

"Mistress Narcissa goes to Italy also," Podski said, looking worried. "But she takes with her a Portkey, sir."

Thinning his lips, he leaned back, taking another bite of his toast.

"So she intended to come here," Hermione mused, sipping from a brightly painted mug. "The question is whether she was _actually_ at the battle, especially if none of us saw her there."

"We could have missed her," Hugo said, frowning. "But you'd think if she had a Portkey that was already prepared for her use, she could have utilised it to escape a tight situation. I believe she will join us when she can."

The thought put Draco at ease, but only just. Because when Hugo arose, Draco realised he was wearing his Nocturnus battle gear, but he slipped a button down shirt over top, concealing it beneath.

Draco frowned, preparing another slice of toast. "What are you doing?"

"I have to leave for a while," Hugo said with a grimace.

As Hermione offered a shrill, "What?" Draco clicked his tongue and snapped, "No you aren't."

Hugo had the grace to look chastised, but he didn't move. "I don't have an option."

Rolling his eyes, Draco shook his head, feeling an old familiar tug of irritation with Hugo. "Fine, then. _Where_ are you going that is so urgent as to put us all at risk?"

His green stare flicked between them, and Hugo cleared his throat before announcing, "Belgrade."

Nausea embedded itself in Draco's stomach, and he set down his partial slice of toast. "You aren't going alone."

Hugo clenched his jaw, retaking his seat at the table and interlocking his hands across his friend. "I _am_ going alone because there's no way I'm putting either of you at risk." He hesitated for a moment before going on. "In my letter to Dagomir, I arranged to meet him at noon; I'm leaving _now_, three hours early, because it will give me time to sweep and ward the area."

A cold feeling of dread lingered in the back of Draco's mind when he met Hermione's cautious stare. He didn't feel right about the plan.

Hugo pushed on with a grimace. "We need to know if Dagomir is on our side; if we still have the guard. And if he needs our help, this can't wait. If I miss this meeting today... it could be our only chance."

Draco swept a hand through his hair, the misery of helplessness burning in his veins as it often did and building as a mixture of despair and anger. If he at least had command of his base magic, it would be feasible for them all to go. But without even the use of a wand, Draco would be a sitting duck if an altercation arose.

"I should go," Hermione announced, her face tight. "As backup."

"No," Draco ground out as Hugo echoed him. "Not a fucking chance am I putting both of you at risk over this."

"Hugo will be at greater risk meeting Dagomir in Belgrade than you are here," she said.

Grinding his teeth, Draco refused to acknowledge the fact that she was right. The villa was so heavily warded, the air so thick with magic, he could barely wade through the doors.

"I think you should stay here," Hugo said quietly, as if he didn't know who he ought to disagree with. "If this is a trap, and Dagomir's been captured, I'll be swarmed by Avance." He swallowed, looking uncomfortable and mildly green. "And Hermione wouldn't be able to fight them all off anyways."

"I have the affiliation," she responded, shoulders tense but voice faltering. "If I need to use it."

Draco felt as if a vice had taken hold of his heart. "And are you prepared to use it to kill?"

He could see the sympathy on her face and looked away; in his dreams, he could still see the faces of the people who had met their ends by the magic in his veins, the night at the fortress.

But there wasn't time to dwell on that when they were in a more precarious situation now than they had ever been. He feared that Hermione, despite knowing what she needed to do, would hesitate when the moment came. In the same way he had done.

He breathed, "I can't lose you. Either of you."

Hugo rose from his seat, shifting towards the archway that led from the kitchen. Ducking his chin, he announced, "I'll be leaving in half an hour," before leaving the room in a subtle offer of privacy.

Turning to face him, Hermione clasped his hand in hers, her stare apprehensive. "I need to go and protect Hugo."

Draco felt useless, the despair of it welling up inside of him and manifesting as frustration as he dropped his face into his other hand, drawing a deep breath and finding himself suffocating.

Quietly, he said, "And what am I supposed to do if you don't return?"

Moisture accumulated in her eyes but didn't break as she stared at him. "Draco, when you were lying there… _dead_, for all intents and purposes, I thought the same thing." Her voice dropped to a broken whisper. "If you didn't wake up—how would I possibly go on? How was I to manage all of this on my own?"

"I _can't_, Hermione." He felt shame and self-loathing build at his own cowardice, the demons he had spent his entire life running from. "I can't lose you."

He couldn't stand to voice the rest of the sentiment. Because Hugo was the only other person they had, and Draco couldn't bear the thought of losing him either. But she was his _wife,_ and nothing else could measure up.

The tears broke from her eyes as she blinked, blurring her beautiful chocolate irises as she sunk in her seat facing him. "If you ask me to stay, I'll stay."

Draco knew he couldn't ask that of her either.

He only took her face in his hands, kissing away the tears that trailed down her cheeks, before finding her lips. Gruffly against her mouth, he murmured, "You've always been the brave one."

Kissing him again, Hermione whispered, "You're so much braver than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm not brave," Draco choked, wanting to hold onto her forever. "Not if I want you to stay here."

"It isn't our thoughts that define us," she mused, her eyes sad as they met his, "but our actions. Our habits. And our character."

With a lurch in his chest, Draco nodded before drawing back. Although the word physically pained him, he blurted out, "Go. And don't you fucking _dare_ get yourself killed."

She only offered a stilted nod.

* * *

As it turned out, the reason Hugo was so adept at procuring illegal Portkeys was that he had learned how to create them himself. Of course, they couldn't access or reveal warded property, which was why they hadn't been able to Portkey to Granada from Vilnius.

It was one of the only mundane thoughts Hermione allowed herself to dwell on as she and Hugo, fully glamoured, cast an intensive sweep for hidden magic in a small plaza within Belgrade, Serbia. According to Hugo, Dagomir hadn't grown up too far away, and it was contained enough that they would presumably be able to detect anything untoward.

The only thing he had included in his letter from the Vilnius owl post office was a time and a location, and they were relying not only on the fact that Dagomir would have actually received the letter but also that he would have understood and been able to act upon it.

So many things were hinging on the moment that Hermione found a multitude of thoughts pressing in and threatening her precarious mental state.

She and Hugo had arrived in the square two hours prior, and it was now nearly a quarter to noon.

Dagomir's appearance—or lack thereof—would determine much of how they would move forward, and could swing the matter wildly one way or the other.

As Hermione walked casually at Hugo's side—affecting the stance of a Muggle pair simply out for a walk—she realised she could feel the thrumming of the affiliation in her fingers. When she really focused in, she could detect Hugo's magical signature, faint though it was, given the rest of the people mingling nearby were Muggle.

At first she had wondered why Hugo had selected such a location, but the presence of Muggles made sense. Anyone with a wand and an ounce of sanity would think twice before releasing a barrage of magic.

"Anything?" he asked, carefully keeping his expression neutral. His hands were stowed in his pockets as he walked, and Hermione suspected he was sustaining a magic detection charm.

Fluttering the tips of her fingers in the air, Hermione shook her head with a tight smile to a couple walking by. "Nothing. The only magical thing I'm picking up on is you."

Working with Hugo on the matter distracted her from the guilt of leaving Draco behind at the villa in Granada, but only just. It simply wasn't worth the risk for him to go along when he had no magic with which to defend himself if an altercation were to arise.

They had considered the thought of splitting up, but ultimately decided they would be safer together.

Their glamours would buy them a few valuable moments if things _did_ go sour.

The large clock tower in the centre of the plaza suggested it was five minutes until high noon when Hugo's expression tightened with a hiss. From within the trees on the edge of the park walked a man, sturdy with a thick beard, and Hermione froze mid-step.

Even from a distance, she recognised Dagomir's heavy gait and distinctive rugged look.

But he wasn't alone.

"Get back," Hugo whispered quickly. "Cast if you have to and we can Obliviate after."

Breathless, Hermione offered a nod, sliding her hand into her pockets. "Remember, our glamours will only hold up until they detect our magical signatures."

The second figure was smaller, a hooded coat obscuring their head and face, but the slight stature suggested female.

Eyes widening, Hugo muttered, "If it's Cosette, we _get the fuck out_."

Dagomir and his accomplice neared the clock tower as it reached noon, a series of loud, low rings beginning to reverberate across the small space, and Hermione took a moment to survey the situation from a distance.

Although the pair were walking together, and it was almost unnoticeable, Dagomir's hand was coiled around the woman's elbow, his grip tight as if holding her in place. As if her presence wasn't entirely willing.

Hugo's altered gaze flickered briefly to hers.

As they neared the clock tower, Dagomir's green stare lifted and locked immediately on Hermione's without hesitation, and a jolt of adrenaline chased through her heart. They still didn't know whether Dagomir had escaped the battle or been captured, so for all they knew they were walking into a trap.

But Dagomir stared hard at them, as if through their glamours, for a long, stifled moment.

And then relief broke across his face, chest sinking with a heavy exhalation as he dragged his partner forward.

Hugo choked out something in Swedish, pacing forward, and Hermione hissed, holding her ground.

Until the woman removed her hood, tears breaking from her eyes.

It was Madeline.

"Hugo," Hermione said, and the man stopped mid-stride, tension rising in his shoulders. "She isn't loyal."

Instantly, it made sense why Dagomir appeared to be dragging her. But Madeline's face had lit up with joy upon seeing Hugo's glamoured appearance, and she clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Hugo," Dagomir ground out, his tone more affected than Hermione had ever heard. Lowly, he asked, "Lunae Amor?"

When Hermione offered a minute nod, he dropped his head instantly into a deep bow, and when he looked up she noticed his eyes were glassy. She softened, feeling some of her steely resolve dissipating in the face of the situation. Sharing a brief look with Hugo, she mused quietly, "Let's go somewhere we can talk."

Dagomir nodded, squinting into the sun. "Come on."

Leading them towards a small maintenance shack, Dagomir cast a casual glance around before taking hold of the handle and releasing the lock with a non-verbal spell. A variety of tools hung from the walls, equipment and supplies stacked on shelves, but without hesitation, Hugo and Dagomir set to work warding the small building from the inside.

Hugo dropped his glamour, and, cautiously, Hermione did the same. She found Madeline's gaze lingering on her, and a frisson of unease crept down her spine.

Madeline's vows were to the affiliation like the rest of the Order, but she huffed a breath, her lips twitching. There was something mildly irreverent in her tone that set Hermione on edge. "Dagomir's taken my wand and has me bound up."

When Hermione peered closer, she could in fact see the faint shimmer of magic around Madeline's wrists.

Hugo stepped back from his work with the wards, eyeing Madeline with caution, as if he couldn't decide what to make of her. Quietly, he mused, "You're alright." Then he glanced towards Dagomir. "Thank you."

Dagomir responded only with a grimace. "It has not been a good few days. For the love of Merlin, someone tell me the Lunae Ortus is alright."

Exchanging a glance with Hugo, Hermione shifted on her feet. "He's alive."

Expresion darkening, Dagomir stared between them. "He's injured."

"His magic," Hugo clipped, his tone faltering. "We nearly lost him, but the Lunae Amor saved him in time. We've been with the Arcands at their safe house." His eyes drifted again towards Madeline, expression tight, hands clasped firmly together as if he might reach for her otherwise. "Why hasn't your allegiance shifted?"

"It did," Dagomir bit out. "Nearly took me out before I could get her bound up." Hesitating, he eyed the rest of them in turn. "She's been… _fighting_ it."

"Fighting," Hermione whispered, marvelling at the thought. "Because of Hugo?"

Silent tears trailed down Madeline's cheeks as she held Hugo's stare, offering a tight nod. "I don't know what happened down there but—all of a sudden, I wasn't fighting for the Order anymore but for Cosette, and—" Choking on a sob, she fell silent, and Hermione waited with bated breath. "And all I could think of was you, Hugo."

As if releasing the last of his resolve, Hugo pitched forward, taking Madeline into his arms, murmuring in her ear.

Dagomir grimaced and took a step away towards Hermione, his stare dark and foreboding. "Here's what I know: Cosette and Elias have the affiliation. The Nocturnus oaths of the Order have shifted to Cosette, but the guard remains loyal to you and the Lunae Ortus."

A breath of relief chased from Hermione's lungs even as she didn't know what to do with the rest of it.

Dagomir went on after a moment. "We had to fight our way out and nearly didn't make it, but the guards who survived are safe and waiting for your order. I don't know where Cosette and Elias went."

Hermione nodded, feeling a swell of emotion in her chest. It was the first good news they had received since everything happened in Italy. "And Madeline? Is she trustworthy?"

"I don't know," Dagomir breathed, shaking his head. "But she was in my path, and I knew Hugo would have killed me himself if I'd left her behind."

"Interesting," Hermione whispered, "to think that the allegiance is fluid like that. That her loyalty to _Hugo_ overpowered that of the Order."

Folding his arms, Dagomir frowned. "It's fragile. She's tried to attack me more than once."

"Noted." Head spinning with the information they'd learned, Hermione managed a tight smile. "It's good to see you. I'm glad you're safe."

Dagomir only dropped into another low bow. "And you, Lunae Amor."

She met his stare, forcing a thick swallow. "You gave us the time to get out of there. I've no doubt we all would have been killed." Coiling her fingers around the man's arm, she nodded. "Thank you. We were fortunate to have you at our side that night."

The man seemed beyond words, his expression tight. He said quietly, "It was my duty and my honour."

Hermione met Hugo's stare where he had untangled himself from Madeline's embrace, his eyes red, and she glanced away in an effort to give him privacy. But he cleared his throat, adjusting his tie.

"Where is the guard now?"

"Not far from here," Dagomir announced. "They wait for a command. Where is the Lunae Ortus?"

A skittering of unease danced across Hermione's skin, and when she glanced up, she found Madeline's stare on her, something unnerving in the woman's blue eyes. Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, meeting Dagomir's stare.

The man huffed a sigh, and with a twist of his wrist, the invisible shackles binding Madeline's hands tightened and Hugo shifted on the spot.

Hermione asked, "You're certain there's no way for Cosette to tie into her and track us?"

Standing firm, Dagomir said gruffly, "I am not certain of that."

It was an impossible crossroads when they couldn't simply leave Madeline on her own. After everything Hugo had already faced, she didn't see fit to ask that of him. But they couldn't take her to the Malfoy villa in Granada without putting everyone at risk.

As if sensing the tension of their hesitation, Madeline sniffled, sinking in on herself. "I understand if I can't come with you."

"No," Hugo snapped, though the word was half-hearted. He had demonstrated the strength of his loyalty in walking away from his father, but Hermione wasn't sure whether the same would hold true with his girlfriend.

Hermione frowned, attempting to sift through the possibilities in her head while the others stared on. At last she sighed, shaking her head. "Hugo, we need you with us."

And if Madeline's wavering hold on her loyalty to Hugo were to falter at any point, inside a house with the rest of them—if she were to somehow break free of Dagomir's bonds—it could be disastrous.

"Occlumency," Dagomir grunted. "If you can manage it. It will prevent Avance from tracking her down, but it won't keep her from breaking her allegiances again."

Hugo rushed, "She can. Well enough to keep me out, at least."

Hermione could see the anguish in his face at the thought of losing someone else, and it was that thought that weakened the tension in her muscles; with a long sigh, she nodded. "Madeline will come with us. But we'll need to keep her separate until we can observe what's happening with her allegiance. And Dagomir, you'll need to maintain her bonds."

"Yes, Lunae Amor," Dagomir said with a sharp nod.

Madeline's presence embedded a deep crack in their already wavering foundation, and Hermione wondered whether they would come to regret it. But for everything Hugo had done, she had to allow this concession.

Pressing her palms together in an attempt to ground herself, Hermione stared for a long moment at Hugo. His affinity for Madeline could be a weakness or a strength, and she needed to know it would be the latter.

He gave a firm, steady nod.

They could learn from Madeline's allegiance so long as they could control her if she slipped.

"Fine," Hermione said, a little breathy. "We'll go. But if something happens—"

It was Dagomir who spoke next, his words leaving no room for argument. "We will take care of the matter."

In that instant Hermione wondered at the depth of what he had experienced since the moment the tides of battle had shifted in Italy. Whether he'd had to watch his guards fall in battle. Hermione couldn't stand to think about it, but still, the faces of the guards she'd come to know and trust drifted in the back of her mind.

Ben, with his easy grin and jovial mannerisms. Vlad, quiet but secure and protective. Boris, with his quick and efficient spellwork.

Uncertainty still lingered in the back of her mind, practicality fighting with sentimentality.

But Hermione blew out a breath and nodded. "We'll go back to the villa. And we'll take the rest from there."

Hugo nodded, gratitude flashing in his stare as he pulled Madeline into his arms and vanished. Exchanging a grimace with Dagomir, Hermione took hold of his elbow and, turning into Apparition, felt herself pulled into a wild twist of magic.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks as always for sticking with this little story. I appreciate all your wonderful feedback, even though I don't always have a lot of time to thank everyone individually.

Alpha and beta squad love to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	42. Chapter 42

Draco glanced up from idly mashing herbs, feeling a ripple across the protective wards of the property. Instinctively he reached for his wand, his fingers grazing the belt of his jeans instead with a scowl.

Hermione and Hugo had been gone for long enough that his nerves had begun to take over, leading him into the potions lab in an effort to keep his hands busy. Feeling tension roil within him, he cracked his neck and spoke aloud. "Podski."

The elf snapped into sight moments later, flashing a wide grin. "What can Podski do for Master?"

"The wards flickered," he mused, and when the elf confirmed with a nod, he sagged. But a faint alarm bell pealed in the back of his mind. "Is it Hermione and Hugo?"

Podski frowned. "There is four magical beings on the grounds, Master."

Draco froze, his gaze flitting towards the door that would lead him back up to the main floor of the villa. "Four? Are you certain?"

Four people didn't make any sense. Hermione and Hugo had departed to retrieve Dagomir, so even if they'd confirmed he was safe enough to bring him back to the villa, he couldn't imagine who the fourth was.

A frisson of unease crept down his spine, forcing a shudder free as he grappled once more for his wand and cursed under his breath.

He had seen the breadth of the wards Hermione and Hugo had put in place, and he couldn't imagine anyone breaking through them without an understanding of the intricate layers.

Not for the first time, he fumed at the silence in his veins where once his magic had thrummed. Podski stared at him with wide eyes, fidgeting with the fabric of his outfit.

Quietly, Draco asked, "Can you tell who it is?"

Podski narrowed his eyes for a moment in intense concentration before shaking his head. "They is shielded."

He had to believe it was Hermione and Hugo with Dagomir, but as he wracked his brain, he couldn't figure out who else could be with them. For all he knew it was someone from Avance and they were in trouble. Drawing a deep breath, he ventured up the stairs and into the villa, glancing each way before emerging into the sitting room.

Then he froze, stunned, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Beside the mantle, elegant as ever but looking a little wan, stood his mother. Her eyes snapped to his, her tight expression wilting with relief upon seeing him.

"Draco," she huffed, striding forward, "thank Merlin you're alright."

Without a second thought, he drew his mother into a tight embrace, feeling some of the tension sink from him at last, before he pulled back to hold her arms. Searching her gaze, he breathed, "And you. What happened?"

It was only then that he noticed his Aunt Andromeda perched on the sofa as if she wasn't quite sure she wanted to be there. And then Draco was reminded of the two other signatures.

"Andromeda," he rushed with a nod. "Who else is here?"

"I ran into trouble leaving Italy," Narcissa said, her words clipped with an edge of anxiety. "I thought I was being followed, but I was able to escape to Andromeda's house. We had to make our way here with caution."

Draco released a sigh, sinking into the sofa as he ran a hand through his hair. His mother took a hesitant seat on his other side.

"What happened? Where is Hermione?"

The shame of everything that had happened since the battle in Italy once again settled in his gut with an insistent churning sensation. Idly, he flexed his hand where it rested on his thigh.

"Hermione and Hugo have gone to meet with Dagomir—to determine if he's safe and trustworthy. They should have been back by now," he groused, casting a glance towards his watch. Feeling his mother's and aunt's stares on him, Draco looked away. "When they seized the affiliation, the spell either damaged or _stole_ the rest of my magic."

He felt a hot sting claw up his throat towards his cheeks and rose from his seat again to pace the sitting room. "I nearly died—I'm not even sure how I didn't—but I can't use any magic, which is why I'm not out there with them."

Speaking the confession aloud slammed the weight of the truth into Draco all at once, and to his horror, his eyes stung with the effort of withholding tears. Turning back to his mother, he forced a thick swallow and said, "Who else is with you?"

"They're outside," Narcissa returned, a hint of caution lingering behind the words. "I didn't want you to be upset because they aren't Nocturnus, but when I responded to one of Theodore's _many_ owls—"

"Theo," Draco choked, incredulous. "Theo's here?"

With a demure smile, Narcissa finished, "They wouldn't let up and demanded to come with us."

Turning to look through the window, Draco felt a lurch in his chest when his gaze landed on Theo and Blaise, his two best mates. They flashed him a grin before darting inside. For the first time since everything had gone so wrong, Draco felt a true smile stretch across his face.

He clapped each of them on the back in a brief embrace before drawing back.

"I don't know what you said to convince my mother to bring you along, but I'm glad to see you," he admitted, shaking his head.

Blaise's stare flickered to where Narcissa and Andromeda sat with a one-shouldered shrug. "It wasn't that difficult. We've all been worried about you, and when your mother said things had gone wrong—"

"Wrong doesn't begin to explain it all," Draco huffed, sinking into an armchair by the fire. Every so often his gaze flickered between the Floo grate and the grounds beyond the window, even though he knew he would feel the wards ripple again once Hermione and Hugo returned with Dagomir.

Fatigued but feeling a thrill despite the strain of it all, he launched into a cautious retelling of everything that had occurred since the battle in Italy, leaving out certain details, but he included the way he had lost his magic and how he, Hermione, and Hugo had spent a few days with the Arcands before relocating to the villa in Spain.

When he was done, four wide sets of eyes stared at him in disbelief.

"You have _no_ magic?" Blaise asked, frowning.

Draco shook his head slowly. "None."

"And the Order," his mother said with a frown, "are no longer loyal?"

His stare tightening, Draco eyed her for a moment. "I wondered whether your loyalties would have shifted but evidently not. Hugo said he'd remained loyal because the vows of the council are more specific."

"As were mine," Narcissa announced as she cleared her throat. "But even so, as if any _magic_ could cause me to turn on my own son."

Draco felt a sweeping wave of gratitude even as Hermione's continued absence lingered along the fragile existence of his heart. He couldn't help but wonder whether something had gone wrong. It had been a dangerous undertaking to begin with, and he would never forgive himself if they were injured. He refused to let himself think about any other alternative.

He could feel Theo and Blaise watching him, but surprisingly they'd taken the story well enough. And even though they weren't Nocturnus, nothing about the situation was particularly precedented as far as he was aware, and at the moment Draco couldn't be arsed about sharing privileged information.

It wasn't as if the rest of the Order were there. All they had at the moment was a small group of friends, and Draco had learned the hard way, years ago, about leaving his friends out of his deepest struggles.

Podski rolled in a tea cart and, as if she couldn't bear to sit still any longer, Narcissa set about preparing several cups of tea. Draco blinked, unable to remember the last time he had seen his mother prepare her own tea.

But before he could say anything, another flicker crossed the back of his mind, and he leapt to his feet.

"Hermione," he breathed, making his way towards the door before he paused. "Podski?"

The elf's wide eyes swivelled to his. "Four more signatures, Master."

Idly dragging a hand through his hair, Draco cursed under his breath. Four signatures didn't make sense—again. The situation might have been amusing if it wasn't so tense.

* * *

Hermione froze as Dagomir swung an arm in front of her, halting her progress. He tensed as if listening for something, and then he glanced sidelong at Hugo.

"There are others here," Dagomir announced as they lingered just inside the boundary of the villa's wards.

"Others?" Hermione breathed, a sudden swell of panic rising within her. "We left Draco here alone because it was safer for him to stay here than to come with us."

Hugo stepped forward with his wand drawn, Madeline lingering behind as Dagomir's binding spell kept her on the spot. Quietly he asked, "Who else is here?"

"I don't know," Dagomir said, beginning a cautious approach towards the home. His own wand brandished before him, he led the small group, keeping Hermione slightly behind though she had her own wand and was fully capable.

Never mind the fact that she felt the power of the affiliation pulsing in her palm at the thought of anything happening to Draco.

But as they neared the house, tense and alert, Hermione froze when the door swung open and Draco strode out. Relief flooded her chest as she darted forward, finding herself momentarily caught in his embrace before he drew back, a smile tugging at his lips.

"You're back," he murmured, planting a kiss to her temple before releasing her and turning towards Dagomir.

As Draco clapped the man on the shoulder, Dagomir bent his neck into a deep bow. "Lunae Ortus," he said, "I am so relieved to see you well."

Offering a grimace, Draco opened his mouth to speak when his gaze landed on Madeline, bound a short distance away.

"It's a long story," Hermione began, eyeing the other girl closely as her expression shifted, conflicted, before falling neutral again. "She isn't _strictly_ loyal to either side." Her gaze drifted to Draco again, heart leaping as the fear settled away, but something else looked different about him. He carried a confidence she hadn't seen since Italy. "Who else is here?"

His lips curled with a smile. "Come and see."

* * *

Draco eyed Hermione with cautious optimism bubbling in his chest. It was the first time in days they'd seen anyone other than the Arcands, and it felt like good news.

After a brief visit with everyone who had arrived at the villa, Draco, Hermione, Hugo, and Dagomir had retreated to another room in the villa to confer. Madeline, although they didn't know whether they could trust her with information, also couldn't be left alone. Draco didn't want her near his family or friends until they understood the situation better, so they had left her in the adjoining room, warded and bound, and Dagomir had cast a revealing spell on a portion of the wall so they could see her.

Although Hugo had been disgruntled over the way she was being treated, Draco couldn't trust anyone who he didn't _know_ was loyal—and he knew Hugo understood that. He didn't have any aversions to Madeline staying in in the villa—provided there was no way for Avance to track her down—but they would need to operate under certain precautions.

Dagomir approached Draco upon breaking off from the rest of the group, emotion heavy in his face, and clapped him on the shoulder. Understanding the sentiment, Draco murmured, "I'm glad you're safe."

"And you, Lunae Ortus," Dagomir returned, his voice gruff. Then he rummaged in his pack and withdrew Draco's old familiar hawthorn wand.

Staring at the wand in disbelief for a moment, Draco curled his fingers around the handle. The quiet emptiness of his magic resounded in his soul, but there was comfort to be found in the familiar feel of it.

"You risked your life to retrieve this?" he asked quietly.

Dagomir only bowed his head as he had done outside when they had first reunited. "I held onto the hope that you would one day need it again."

Despite everything—including the abrasive fact that he couldn't actually _use_ the wand—the thought of it bolstered his spirits in a way he hadn't expected. The ash wand he had purchased on their visit into the wizarding community of Vilnius was useless at his hip, but Draco tucked the hawthorn wand in alongside it.

A small table sat in the centre of the parlour, and as their half of the council was down to four, they had decided to utilise it as a makeshift council room.

Although the circumstances were vastly different from their final council meeting in the Nocturnus castle, it was the first sense of normalcy Draco had experienced in days as he gazed upon the three that remained loyal.

Seated to his right, Hermione took his hand into hers, entwining their fingers.

"This is not how I anticipated we would next meet," he mused to a soft chuckle from the others. "But this is where we're at, I suppose. What do we all know about the situation?"

Dagomir, having been the one on the move without them, spoke up first. "The situation in Italy remains dire. The allegiances of _most_ of the Nocturnus Order have shifted to follow the lunar affiliation."

They all glanced towards the magically transparent section of the wall, through which they could see Madeline idly reading a book.

"It is fascinating to me that Madeline's loyalty has wavered," Draco admitted, glancing towards Hugo. "It means the shift isn't infallible."

"Indeed it does," Dagomir affirmed, his stare lingering for a moment longer. "As we know, Elias and Tressel have betrayed their council and their order. As oathbreakers, their retribution will come—but we do not yet know what that is. The situation with regards to Glenneth is uncertain, but we do know at the battle he was under the Imperius Curse. We can yet hope that his loyalty remains here. No one has seen Oro—he is presumed missing."

Thick unease hung in the air over the small table, and Draco averted his stare from Hugo's.

Dagomir carried on. "The Nocturnus guard had to fight to escape the Nocturnus fortress when the tides of battle first shifted. Those who survived remain loyal to this council and their Lunaes. I will send word if this is to be our new base of operations."

With a shrug, Draco glanced at each of them in turn. "I don't know of anywhere better right now. It isn't as big as the Manor, but it should hold everyone well enough. We may need to establish temporary barracks on the grounds."

When Dagomir fell silent, Hugo was the next to speak up. "Although our forces are small, our adversaries remain, and they will only seek to grow stronger. I think it's in our best interest to keep an eye on Avance. Dagomir, do you know where they are?"

"I am not certain," Dagomir returned, his expression apologetic, "but from what I have heard in the days since the battle, I am led to think Avance has taken up residence in Nocturnus Castle."

The words seized Draco's heart like a vice, sending it plummeting into his stomach as betrayal and nausea crept, insidious, into the back of his mind. Icily, he ground out, "They've _what_?"

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, tension in the lift of her shoulders.

Hugo slammed a hand to the table, his jaw clenched tightly and lips thinned into an angry line.

Drawing in a long, steadying breath, Draco scowled at the wood grain of the table. Bergen knew how important the castle was to them—Merlin, the sentimental value went far deeper than the fact of being an old Nocturnus seat. His gaze flickered to Hermione, who worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

"There is no way," he bit out at last, "that isn't targeted. Avance knows what's important to us—this is a taunt."

"Of course it is," Hugo snapped, rage simmering to the surface. "He has _no_ fucking idea what he's—"

"Hugo," Hermione said, and the man stilled, sinking back into his seat. "Anger won't help us right now. What we need is to begin to sort out a plan." Dropping her voice, she added, "Revenge will be that much sweeter when we're prepared and they're not looking."

Draco grimaced even as he gave her hand another soft squeeze. "The problem is we're vastly outnumbered and underpowered, and we have no way of getting to them as it is right now. Approaching the castle with such a small force would be akin to suicide."

Having relaxed slightly, Hugo clicked his tongue. "Recall, Lunae, that our forces within Nocturnus are presently small and, quite frankly, we don't stand a chance against Avance. But we have friends outside of Nocturnus."

"I will reach out to my friends in the British Ministry," Hermione spoke up. "And Claude Arcand spoke of the French community."

"I believe there's something else," Hugo began, moistening his lips, "that Dagomir doesn't yet know."

Dagomir sat upright in his seat, waiting.

Catching on, Draco nudged Hermione in the shoulder. Idly, he mused, "While I have no magic, and certainly no control over the lunar affiliation…"

A dull hint of colour crept into Hermione's cheeks as she extended her palm, her gaze tightening with concentration. Little by little, silver light began to accumulate at the tips of her fingers, spreading into the lines of her palm, until the affiliation flared to life in the dimly lit room.

Dagomir gaped at her, his brows lifting high on his forehead in surprise. "Lunae Amor—you possess the lunar affiliation? This is unheard of."

"She's been working on it for a long time," Draco said with a frisson of pride as he gazed at the way she manipulated the magic. A quiet hint of envy sat below the surface of his heart, and he wished he could feel the wealth of magic rush through his veins again. "But we kept it quiet—it appears now that was for the best."

"Avance does not know," Dagomir confirmed. Hermione shook her head, dispersing the magic into the room like a blinding firecracker. "This is welcome news indeed. So we are not completely behind in every aspect."

"No," Draco said wryly, "just most."

* * *

After a long, hectic day, Hermione sank into bed at Draco's side. Between retrieving Dagomir and Madeline—Hugo and Dagomir had ensured the wards on Madeline's room were strong enough to contain her in case she went rogue during the night—and the unexpected arrival of Draco's friends and family, it was a welcome consideration to think that something had gone right.

Theo and Blaise hadn't been able to stay past dinner, but Hugo had prepared each of them customised Portkeys so they could access the villa—but, in a tricky bit of magic, he altered them to ensure only the owner would be able to activate it.

But Narcissa and Andromeda had decided to stay in the villa, and it was nice to have some good cheer over a meal. Podski had been overjoyed at the thought of preparing a meal for so many again.

"Tomorrow," she mused quietly, "I'll Floo call Harry."

"Good idea," Draco said, stifling a wide yawn behind his hand. "It'll be good to learn what's going on back in England. And obviously having connections with the British Ministry won't go awry. Without Arcand blocking relationships between us and England, we'll be able to reach out to Shacklebolt freely."

She gave a slow nod, the action of it feeling clunky with fatigue. "Exactly."

Draco dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head. "I still can't believe how everything's gone—but if nothing else, it's nice to see some friendly faces. I think these last few days I'd started to believe everyone was against us."

"We learned a lot today," Hermione said, leaning into his side. Taking his arm between her hands, she swept her thumb along the crescent marking on his wrist. Her gaze flickered to his as she chewed on her bottom lip. "May I?"

He shifted, a bit of a grimace flickering across his face, but he nodded.

Hermione swept her thumb along the mark, watching his face carefully, before pressing a soft kiss to the skin. Draco only frowned, shaking his head with a quiet, "Nothing."

If the crescents were the outward embodiment of the bonds between them, it suited logic to think that the way she might access his dormant magic—if it _was_ dormant, as she so hoped—would be through the mark. Idly she pressed her own against his; in her own arm she felt the connection, but his expression didn't change.

Defeat chased through her as she blew out a breath.

Discouraged, Draco made to retract his arm from her hold, but her fingers tightened. She clenched her other hand into a fist, concentrating on the affiliation and drawing a small measure of the glowing magic to the tips of her fingers. As it extended outwards into her palm, she pressed her palm against the mark on his wrist.

Once again, Hermione could feel the echo of her own magic bouncing through the empty bond that had once felt so vibrant and alive. Releasing a sigh, she began to withdraw her hand, when she felt _something_ and jolted to a stop.

It could have been nothing, faint though it was, but then she felt it again. Almost like a soft thud of a pulse.

Fixing all of her focus, her intention, and every last shred of magic she could summon, she pressed her thumb against the crescent.

A sharp intake of breath from Draco was the only indication that he'd felt anything, but tears welled in her eyes all the same. The soft, gentle thud against her thumb, then again, until it was a soft, barely-there rhythm.

Draco flexed his hand, almost an instinctive movement, and Hermione felt the flicker travel back towards her. He stared, incredulous, at his hand, his chest still as if he didn't dare breathe.

"Do you feel that?" she whispered.

She watched as his throat bobbed with a swallow and he breathed, "Only just. I felt a flicker of something. Like… I can't explain it."

"Like a jolt," Hermione returned, nodding. Again, she traced her fingers along the crescent, infusing as much intention into the affiliation as she could manage. She still didn't have the ease of control over the magic as Draco had before he'd lost it, but she could feel the shimmer of it bending to her will.

In the back of her mind, she could see Muggle films, where they would boost someone's heart to bring them back to life.

Even though she dreaded what might happen, she breathed, "Try something."

Draco hesitated before reaching for his wand in the nightstand. After several attempts, wherein nothing occurred, he sighed, casting her a grimace. "Still nothing."

But then, almost of its own accord, a single silver spark fell from the end of the wand, fading into nothing against the quilt. Draco huffed a sharp breath as they both stared, and Hermione, at last, felt the first shred of hope.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hello, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm so happy to be sharing this story as we gear up into the heart of part three, and I'm so glad to have you along for the ride. Thank you for reading friends!

Alpha and beta hearts to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	43. Chapter 43

By the time Hermione awoke the following morning, Draco was already up. He sat on the edge of the bed, all of his concentration fixed on his wand. She eyed him for a moment, remembering the way she had seen a flicker of his old self the day before when he'd had friends and family there.

For the first time since Italy, since he'd lost his magic, she could see hope.

He didn't react when she shifted up from bed, coiling her arms around him from behind as she planted a lingering kiss to his jaw. "Anything?"

"No," he murmured, "but I didn't expect much."

The night before, only a single spark had broken free from his wand, and that had been with coaxing from her own magic.

When she tucked her feet beneath her and propped her chin on his shoulder to watch, he tested with his wand a few more times. Nothing happened, but he didn't look discouraged as he offered her a half-hearted grimace.

Taking his wrist into her hand, she grazed her thumb against his crescent, searching for the dull throb of his magic that she'd detected so faintly the night before. Hermione hesitated, fixing her efforts into the mark that bound them together, and she felt him sink a little into her hold, his eyelids fluttering.

Draco's face rolled towards hers, a hint of a smirk lingering on his lips before they brushed her own. Against her mouth he said lowly, "I swear to Merlin if you fix my magic…" Without finishing his train of thought, he kissed her again, his tongue delving between her lips with more intensity than she'd anticipated.

Her fingertips lingered against his mark as he manoeuvred her back into the bed, covering her body with his as he kissed her. A whimper escaped her lips at the feel of his hands, her head dropping back into the pillow, until they both froze.

Draco's eyes snapped open, searching hers. The echo of his magic pulsed, insistent, against her fingers, shimmering white as she dragged them against his crescent.

With a muffled curse, he dropped his face into her shoulder.

"You felt that," she breathed, pressing a little harder.

"Yes," he groaned, biting gently into the curve of her shoulder. "I can feel it."

Curious, Hermione propped herself up, testing the way her magic played against his crescent marking, and as she focused, she could feel the bond nudge against her own. Against her volition, tears sprung to her eyes as she sought his stare.

Without withdrawing his marked hand from her hold, Draco grappled for his wand, and his expression faltered as he gave it a cautious swish.

Almost as if with a delay, a burst of sparks broke free.

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, still reaching for his magical core with as much of the affiliation as she could summon. Quietly she asked, "What does this mean?"

Fixing his wand with a tight stare, he tested another spell, levitating an empty glass from the bedside table a short distance before it dropped down with a clunk. Incredulous, he shook his head. "It means my magic isn't gone—it's only dormant. And _you_ can awaken it."

"It's stronger this morning than it was last night," she breathed, a smile stretching across her face. "I think if you keep working on it—"

But he was kissing her again, stripping her bare, and leaving little room to speak.

* * *

That afternoon, what remained of the Nocturnus council sat before the fireplace grate in the main sitting room. Madeline was safely stowed in her room with a stack of books they'd found in the study, and Narcissa and Andromeda had gone for a walk after promising to remain within the warded boundaries of the property.

Draco felt his heart rate begin to escalate as Hermione approached the grate. It felt like so long ago since they'd left England for Italy, but the reality of it was that it had only been a little over a week. It had been difficult to keep track of days, especially since he'd been so disoriented during their stay at the Arcands' in Lithuania.

And now they had no idea what the situation was back home.

He leaned against the sideboard, folding his arms as his gaze flitted to Hugo and Dagomir, both of whom had attempted to sit on the sofa but were now pacing.

Without any fanfare, Hermione threw a handful of Floo powder into the grate and called for Harry Potter.

Several long, tense moments later, Potter's face appeared in the green flames, crumpling with relief. "Hermione!" His gaze swept the room. "Thank Merlin you're alright."

"Hardly." Draco snorted, dragging a hand through his hair and attempting to ignore the way his fingers quaked. "Are you alone Potter?"

His disembodied head glanced sidelong. "Daphne's here."

"Come through, please," Hermione said, stepping back from the grate. "There's so much we need to discuss. Without portraits listening in."

Potter's expression faltered with concern before he nodded, his head retreating. Several seconds later he walked through the still vibrant flames before they dissipated back into the grate. Hermione pulled him into an embrace, sinking into her friend's hold before she withdrew, glancing towards Draco.

"A lot has happened since we left England," she began, and Draco blew out a breath as he nodded.

Hugo and Dagomir lingered like sentries at either side of the room, but they all migrated towards the small room they'd set up as a makeshift council chamber. Hovering at one end of the table, Potter caught Draco by the arm, a heavy furrow in his brow.

"You haven't heard what's happened?" Potter asked, his tone quiet. "Where's your mother?"

"She's here with Andromeda," Draco replied, frowning. "What happened?"

Potter nodded with a crisp, "Good. Teddy is staying with us for the time being." Then his gaze flickered to Hermione, who approached with caution. "Malfoy Manor was attacked, mate."

Hermione released a startled gasp, clapping a hand to her mouth. The rest of the room froze, tense, until Draco ground out, "What do you mean, attacked?"

"I mean it isn't good," Potter returned with a grimace, tugging at his messy hair. "I was working shift when we got the call. It's still standing—most of it, anyways—but it's not in a good way."

Before anyone could say anything, Potter hastily added with a glance towards Hermione, "The elves claim they're all accounted for but one—Podski?"

"Podski's here," Draco bit out, his head swirling.

At his other side, Dagomir folded his arms, and Draco could have sworn he heard the man growl. "This is the work of Avance."

"A message," Hugo added, scratching the back of his neck. "A way to ensure we don't return."

"And to ensure we know they can get to us," Hermione added quietly. "Thank Merlin no one was still there."

Draco didn't want to add the obvious—that no one who had been living there was still loyal to him, aside from the small gathering presently at the villa, and the guards to whom Dagomir would be reaching out later.

But after Theo and Blaise had been privy to several conversations regarding confidential Nocturnus matters, the four remaining members of the council had agreed that it would be vital to accept any support they could from anyone they knew they could trust.

If he was honest, Draco quite thought Nocturnus could use some modernisation anyways. And that included some fresh interest.

His heart stuttered at the thought of his childhood home in shambles—and though magic had rebuilt the property more than once, a chill crept along his spine at the thought.

"So," he prompted, his heart hammering in his throat at the thought of what Potter had shared, "this leaves us here in Spain—as long as Avance doesn't know we're here."

Hugo dug in his pocket, brandishing a Portkey much like the ones they'd given Blaise and Theo, but keyed to Potter's magical signature. As Potter gazed at the item, Hugo briefly explained its purpose, the group of them settling around the table.

"We're broadening our allies," Draco mused as Potter turned incredulous eyes on him.

Between them, they filled Potter in on the occurrences that had led them from England to Spain, and he had been appropriately flabbergasted.

Blowing out a breath, Potter muttered, "This Avance is no joke."

"Unfortunately not," Draco said with a grimace. "Please, give us some good news out of England. Whatever you know."

Leaning back in his seat, Potter glanced around the table. "Since Claude Arcand stepped out of power in France, the Wizengamot hasn't been breathing down Kingsley's neck about this anymore. Which means you won't be facing any more trouble there with regards to inquiries. The new French Minister, Laurent—"

"Avance now," Draco muttered, frowning. "That backfired."

Potter only shook his head. "He doesn't give a rat's arse about the British Ministry. And I'd wager to say he doesn't care about the French Ministry all that much right now, either."

"He wouldn't if Avance has forced the former Nocturnus to stay all holed up somewhere," Hugo contributed.

Draco's eyes tightened with consideration. "So France is a nonissue?"

"Essentially." Potter hesitated for a moment before going on. "Kingsley's made no secret of the fact that he's supportive of the Nocturnus Order—even though that doesn't look like it used to, according to what you've all shared—and you have our support. As much as we can manage, anyways."

Hermione released an exhale of relief. "That's good news. Thanks Harry."

As if nervous to bring it up, Potter asked, "Do you have a plan? To get back at Avance and seize control of the Order again?"

"It's vague," Draco said, his lips twitching despite the dire situation. "Right now we're severely outnumbered and overpowered."

Although he'd been silent through most of the discussion, Dagomir spoke up, his voice soft. "Our plan will be in stealth and espionage. Avance thinks they have won. They will be careless, and they will slip."

Silence fell over the room, and Draco felt a chill sweep once more down his spine for an entirely different reason.

"As we speak, those who remain of the Nocturnus Guard have gathered and will be travelling to Spain tonight. They will soon return to their task of defending this Order, whatever that takes," Hugo added.

Draco wasn't certain on the specifics of that, but he and Hermione had risen late that morning, and he knew Dagomir and Hugo had discussed the matter of the guard earlier. As if following a similar train of thought, Hermione caught his eye, withholding a smile.

"On that note," Draco clipped, though he didn't expect anyone else to follow the line of thought, "my magic _isn't_ entirely gone. Hermione and I have only just learned."

"It will take some time, we think," she said, addressing the table at large, "but my control of the affiliation seems to have stirred Draco's core magic awake again. He's been able to perform some simple wandwork."

She beamed at him as if she couldn't be prouder, and for an idle moment, Draco wondered whether he would ever deserve her unwavering dedication. He took her hand in his beneath the table.

"Excellent!" Hugo exclaimed as Dagomir nodded in approval. "It will be interesting to see whether you will be able to latch onto the Lunae Amor's usage of the affiliation to revive your own."

The thought hadn't even occurred to Draco, who had been so fixated on simply restoring his base core magic that he blinked at Hugo, startled.

Shrugging, Hugo went on. "She drew her lunar magic from the bond between you—maybe you'll be able to do the same in reverse."

As the conversation carried on, Potter eyed the group with quiet bemusement, as if he wasn't quite certain whether he was privy to the discussion at hand. But Draco met his stare with a nod.

Quietly beneath a new discussion about the guards between Hugo and Dagomir, Draco said, "You're unofficial Nocturnus now, Potter, whether you like it or not. I think we'll be doing things a little differently around here from now on. That's what your Portkey signifies."

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Potter only nodded. "Thanks, Malfoy." His gaze darted to Hermione, a grin crossing his face as he nudged her hand with his across the table. "And Malfoy. I'll do whatever I can to help."

* * *

That evening, after Potter had returned to England, Hugo and Dagomir initiated the enactment of their plan. The only details Draco had learned in the brief interim was that it would involve significant levels of espionage.

Since Draco couldn't Apparate—and in no uncertain terms was Dagomir willing to put his Lunaes at risk anyways—he remained in the villa with Hermione while Dagomir and Hugo Apparated in and out to collect the guards.

By the time the evening concluded, Draco was emotionally wrought. Many of the guards they had come to know so well—Ben, Vlad, and Boris, among others—had returned.

But the number that hadn't come to join them was sobering. Draco remembered Dagomir saying they'd had to fight their way out, and his heart mourned the loss of those who hadn't made it. Hermione turned into his side, despair written on her face, when the last of them arrived.

The villa wasn't large enough to properly house everyone, especially with Narcissa, Andromeda, and Madeline also utilising rooms, but the guards had set to work constructing makeshift quarters on the grounds a short distance from the villa itself.

Draco had been stirred as so many of the guards had approached, expressing their relief and gratitude that he and Hermione were alive and safe. Humbled and overwhelmed, they had only been able to thank the guards for their service and loyalty.

According to Dagomir—who had decided to stay in the barracks with the rest of the guard—the first phase of the plan would commence the following day.

"It almost feels strange," Hermione mused at his side as they watched the guards training and practicing through the window, "to have people around us again."

"It does," Draco admitted. In Lithuania, there had been just the three of them with the Arcands. And then the first days in Spain, the villa had felt oddly empty. Now with the return of Dagomir and the guards, and having spent time with their family and friends, he couldn't help the slow creep of hope into his heart.

Despite that, even with the highly-trained guards, they were still vastly outnumbered.

Now having learned that Malfoy Manor had been decimated—a fact that had lingered, unsettling, in the back of his mind throughout everything else—Draco was insistent his mother not return. According to Potter, the house elves had been initially taken to the Ministry to share anything they knew about the attack, but then they had all decided to return to the Manor to begin cleaning up.

Draco was glad none of them had been caught in the attack, knowing Hermione never would have forgiven herself for leaving them there when Podski had arrived at the villa.

Now that there was no one at the Manor, he supposed there wasn't any reason they couldn't come to Spain, but they had no need for so many elves. And they may yet have use for a rebuilt manor one day.

"It's almost beginning to feel like a real Order again," Draco muttered wryly under his breath, meeting Hermione's stare.

She tucked into his hold, the pair of them basking in the chance to relax for a short while without the fate of so much hanging over them. She breathed, "We'll get there again. It may be hard to believe now, but I have faith."

"What do you think brought it back?"

Being without his magic was the most vulnerable Draco could remember feeling. Not even realising he'd been playing into Avance's tricks from the start had left him feeling as useless and exposed.

Her face softened as if reading the sentiment in his stare, and she took his hand into hers, pressing a soft kiss to his crescent marking. Against his skin she whispered, "Belief."

Draco himself had harboured no belief that his magic would return—if anything, he'd been resentful, succumbing to the despair within his bereft soul.

But there was no judgement in her stare, and he sunk into the feel of her magic, recognising the now vaguely familiar prod of his own weakened core. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he planted a kiss to her palm.

"What did you think about what Hugo said earlier?" he asked, trying to keep his tone disinterested. "About the thought that I might be able to develop the affiliation again through the bond."

"I think," she whispered, tilting her hand to graze his jaw, "you're capable of so much more than you believe. I think it's absolutely possible." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and he could see the glossy sheen to her eyes. "The magic relies on intent, remember?"

He'd already considered, somewhere distant and murky, the level of intent Hermione had been infusing into the bonding marks to draw his magic back out. But it occurred to him in that moment how much it must have cost her—how much of her own belief she'd bestowed upon him when his own was lost.

Ducking in to press his forehead against hers, he whispered, "I won't let you down again."

She only shook her head. "You never let me down. If anything, you've only proven to me how strong of a man you are. The strength of a person's character is in how they respond to adversities not successes."

Draco faltered, drawing away. "And I crumbled when faced with adversity."

"No," she whispered, a sparkle in her eyes as they met his, "you've only begun to rise once more. My Moon Rise."

Draco huffed a laugh, a grin spreading across his face despite himself. "Merlin. Of the two of us, you're the better leader."

Granger shrugged, her head dropping into a tilt as she gazed at him. "Maybe. But one day you'll learn to stop underestimating yourself. Then you'll see what I see—and I see a wonderful leader." Her gaze drifted to the grounds where the guards still practiced, balls of light hovering and illuminating the darkness. "They didn't follow you here because of oaths. They aren't out there, pushing themselves well into the night, because of their oaths."

Blowing out a breath, he nodded, steeling himself with as much conviction as he could muster. "I sure as hell couldn't have done any of this without you."

Her face softened. "I could say the same. It's all been a team effort—and this is just another challenge we'll face."

"We're going to face it," Draco mused, his stare lingering through the window. "We're going to push through this, no matter what it takes." Sinking a little, he added, "It's going to take a hell of a lot."

Hermione's gaze flickered, and she released a titter, taking his hand into hers. "It is," she admitted. "Probably more than we even realise just yet. But we have something they don't and that's true loyalty. We've seen it with Madeline; a person who isn't truly loyal to Avance can't be forced if they don't believe in it. And those guards out there fighting, Hugo and Dagomir, our friends we've spoken to in the last two days... they believe in Nocturnus."

Tears broke from her eyes, trailing silent tracks down her cheeks as she whispered, "They believe in us."

Draco clenched her hand a little tighter, feeling his heart lurch in his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips before drawing back. "I'd follow you to the next world and back."

"And you," she whispered. "I love you."

Her hand in his acted like a lifeline, and Draco felt his heart racing in his chest. "I love you, too."

A secretive smile curled her lips, spreading into a full grin as she gave his hand a squeeze. "Draco."

His brow knitted as he glanced down, following her gaze, and his breath stuttered. Her hand shone with the affiliation where it held his own, and when she released him, the veins of his palm were illuminated with the slightest hint of white, reaching towards the tips of his fingers.

Ever so faintly, he felt the thrum of powerful magic.

* * *

**Author's** **Note: **Hey everyone. Thanks as always for reading. I'm getting into writing the last handful of chapters and I'm really excited to share the rest of this story with you. I hope you're all well.

Alpha and beta squad thanks to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	44. Chapter 44

Glancing down the hallway, Hermione released the wards on Madeline's door, gave a brief knock, and slipped into the room. It was a formality, given they were able to see what she was doing anyways other than one corner for privacy, but Hermione didn't want to simply walk in.

The only person who had been spending any time with Madeline was Hugo, who wasn't in danger from her. He'd opted to stay in the same room with her and neither Hermione nor Draco had the heart to ask him otherwise when he'd done so much. Including turning his back on his own father.

Madeline glanced up in surprise from one of the books they'd given her. A thin, cautious smile spread across her lips, and she peered behind Hermione, as if expecting Hugo to follow.

"Hugo's outside with Draco," Hermione said by way of greeting. "They're working with the guards to prepare a few things." She kept her words intentionally vague, just in case.

Draco had also spent the better part of the morning working on drawing his magic without her assistance, and she'd left him to it.

Marking her page carefully, Madeline set the book aside. "Thank you for coming to see me." Offering a bit of a placating smile, she said, "I don't read as fast in English as in Swedish. These books will keep me busy for a while."

Hermione gestured towards the bed, where the other girl sat cross-legged. "May I?"

"Of course." Madeline shifted, and Hermione perched on the edge, one foot reaching to the floor.

"I found something you might like," Hermione ventured, brandishing a deck of cards. "Do you know any games?"

Worrying her bottom lip, Madeline shook her head. "Not any Muggle games, I'm afraid. Hugo might."

"I can teach you some." When Madeline's eyes widened in surprise, Hermione pushed on. "When I was a child I didn't have a lot of friends—and when I started presenting magic, I was mostly left alone, so I played a lot of card games with my parents and on my own. One of my favourites was a game called Solitaire."

As she spoke, Hermione began laying out the cards on the quilt between them; Madeline's eyes darted along, watching the setup. Then idly, Hermione began playing through a round.

"I can't help but wonder," she said after a while, flipping the cards as she spoke, "why it is that your loyalty didn't shift. Not entirely, anyways." Her gaze drifted up, meeting Madeline's bright blue stare. "You haven't made any effort to attack me."

"I don't mean you any harm," Madeline breathed. "I have a theory of my own, but I… I'm afraid to voice it out loud."

Hermione froze, fidgeting with one of the cards before she stacked it on another. "I'd love to hear it. You can be honest with me. Any information you might have will help."

The girl's cheeks pinked, as if with embarrassment, and she glanced away. "I believe my loyalty to Hugo is greater than to the Order. I think that's why I've been able to fight off the voice—for the most part."

"Voice?" The thought of it resonated through the back of Hermione's mind. "What do you mean?"

Madeline whispered, "Cosette's. I believe it's how she's containing the rest of the Order."

"Like the Imperius Curse?" The game lay between them, forgotten, as Hermione stared hard at Madeline. "Is she forcing people to do her bidding?"

Madeline shrugged, making a face as she considered her answer. "Not quite—not the same, I don't think. It's more like… she's using it to shut out any loyalties to Nocturnus and redirect them to herself. It happened automatically—I felt it in the moment—when the affiliation was seized from the Lunae Ortus. But I think Cosette fears the loyalty to her isn't true. It's only taken."

Hermione wasn't certain she was breathing as she took in everything Madeline was saying. "So that's why you tried to attack Dagomir?"

Madeline's cheeks pinked again. "At first, I wasn't so adept at blocking it out."

Glancing away, Hermione proceeded idly with her game, smiling when Madeline reached forward and shifted one stack of cards onto another. It appeared she was a fast learner.

"I don't blame you, by the way," Hermione said quietly. "That you're more loyal to Hugo. I can't say for certain, since Draco and I only came to know one another by way of the Order, but much of my loyalty is to him as well. You and Hugo were together for many years before all of this began."

Madeline carried on with the cards, as if to keep her hands busy, and she said, "My parents wanted me to be the Lunae Amor. They thought if I presented myself to the Lunae Ortus, and showed my best qualities, that he might have selected me."

"But you wanted to stay with Hugo."

Distantly, Hermione remembered something Draco had said the first time they'd been to visit the Nocturnus Castle together. That Madeline hadn't stood out at the open call.

The girl nodded, keeping her eyes carefully averted. "I grew up in Nocturnus, of course—both Hugo and I did—but I've never felt the depth of loyalty and devotion he has. It didn't matter to me whether I was selected, and in fact, I hoped I wasn't." Madeline frowned, staring at the last few cards. "I don't think there are any moves left."

Hermione shook her head, tapping the deck at the top corner. "The cards you need are trapped in here. You'll need to start over." She collected the cards, demonstrating how to shuffle the deck, before handing it back to Madeline. The girl began to lay the cards out again as Hermione had shown her.

"I don't know that I would have acted any differently," Hermione admitted, "were I to present myself to someone else—a stranger—knowing it would mean walking away from the one I loved."

With a bit of a stuttering nod, Madeline's eyes finally slipped up towards hers again, a smile tugging at her lips. "I appreciate that you understand. I never meant to betray the Nocturnus Order."

Hermione mused, "Does Hugo know about the voice?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I thought if you knew you would ask me to leave."

"I don't want you to leave," Hermione stated, meeting the girl's stare again. "Although I would like to know what she says and when. This could give us insight into Cosette's plans."

Madeline nodded, her face brightening. "I can do that."

Rising to her feet, Hermione said, "I'll leave you to it—maybe you'll join us for meals soon." She turned to walk for the door before turning back. "And Madeline?" The girl's head lifted from her cards. "I'm glad Hugo has you, especially now. He doesn't deserve everything that's happened with his father and Cosette."

"I agree," Madeline said quietly. "Thank you, Lunae Amor."

Offering a belated nod, Hermione slipped from the room.

* * *

Draco was discouraged, whilst simultaneously trying to convince himself _not_ to be discouraged. Even though he _knew_ his magic wasn't gone for good—though only small efforts, he _had_ been able to use it the day before—he hadn't been able to make it cooperate without Hermione's support to bolster him.

And if she was right that he needed to believe in himself, then allowing his faith to wane would certainly do no one any good.

So he kept trying.

He wandered to the edge of the property, until he could feel the tingling of Hermione's wards against his skin.

In an effort to draw strength from her magical signature, he lingered within the boundaries, lifting his wand in another attempt. But nothing happened, as nothing had happened with each try before.

He couldn't manage to cast any spells with his wand, and he also couldn't feel the flare of the affiliation in his opposite hand. He felt bereft, desperate to feel the pulse of his magic in his veins.

The only consolation was that he knew it was still there, dormant below the surface. And somehow, implicitly, he knew Hermione would help him.

She had been by his side through so much that it was now difficult to imagine a time without her. Before his Ascension, and before everything else.

Through the years during and after the war, he had slogged along in a bitter existence until things just started to function again. A wry smile tugged at his lips when he thought of Hermione and the infrequent occasions when they used to see one another out and about in London.

In a strange way, this entire devastating mess had brought them together, and selfish though it might be, he coveted the thought that she was his.

Her magic tingled against his skin, reassuring as it prodded at his own unresponsive core; flexing his palm, he cast a glance down towards his marked hand. He slipped his great-grandfather's ring from his finger, wondering, not for the first time, at the power it possessed to contain and command the affiliation.

A mid-summer breeze washed over him, skimming through his hair as he gazed beyond the limits of the wards.

Somewhere, whether in Italy or France or elsewhere, his adversaries sat, smug in their own assessment of victory over him.

But Draco had been knocked down before—and he'd risen from the dust and the ash of battle. Alone, and struggling in the darkness.

Gazing at the ring, he slid it back onto his finger, feeling a shudder race through him.

He'd rise again, because he wasn't alone this time. And by the time Avance realised what was happening…

Draco clenched his hand into a fist once more, the curves of his nails digging into his palm as he clenched his jaw. He would see Cosette in the dust if it was the last thing he did.

"There you are." The relief palpable in Hugo's voice drew Draco back to the moment, and he stowed his wand with a grimace.

"What is it?"

Hugo's head dropped into a vague tilt towards the villa. "When you're ready, Dagomir and Ben need to talk to you."

Offering a sharp nod, Draco fell into step with Hugo as they made an idle route towards the makeshift barracks. He hadn't been inside yet, as the guards had worked well into the night to establish their quarters and Draco hadn't been keen to interrupt their work.

"Hugo," Draco bit out, shaking his head slowly. "It amazes me how focused you've been through all of this. Through everything with your father, with Madeline…"

A hint of a flush bloomed on Hugo's cheeks that had nothing to do with the glowing Spanish sun. "I suppose keeping my mind occupied on our next steps here has helped to distract me. And having had a few days to think about it, I can only wonder how I didn't realise what my father was up to." He frowned, falling silent for a moment. "He taught me _everything_ I know about Nocturnus. I just… I never could have imagined."

"It's easy to fall blind to those we trust most," Draco allowed with a grimace. "I believed him, too. I relied on him more than anyone on the council."

Hugo nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I know what has to happen. When we see them again." His eyes flickered to Draco's, and below their vibrant green, Draco saw fear. "I can't be the one, Lunae."

Draco only replied softly, "You won't."

He'd been trying not to think about the fact that Elias Bergen, as a traitor to Nocturnus, would face the same fate as Cosette herself. Death by affiliation would be his preferred choice, if his magic would cooperate.

"That said," Hugo went on darkly, "I wouldn't say no to a chance at Cosette."

Recognising the deep well of pain below Hugo's words, Draco clapped him on the shoulder. "When the time comes, my friend, I'll let you take the first shot."

Cosette had wronged them all—had dug beneath the surface into their pasts, their fears and regrets—and had strategically plotted their demise. But Hugo's pain was more visceral and more personal than anyone else's.

Privately, Draco wondered whether Hugo had it in him based on how he'd looked the entire time at the Nocturnus fortress in Italy the night of the battle. But seeing his raw anger below the surface now, Draco nodded. To defend his family, and his Order, he believed Hugo to be capable enough.

Arriving outside of the guards' quarters, Hugo turned to face Draco, dropping his head into a bow. "Thank you, Lunae."

"Thank you, Hugo," Draco returned softly, "for your loyalty."

With a wry smile quirking his lips, Hugo gestured towards the entrance, and Draco ducked through the canvas doorway, gazing around.

From the exterior, the barracks looked like little more than the large white tent that had been set up at his Ascension or the bonding ceremony. But from the inside, he could see networks of pathways branching towards private rooms, and within the centre was a large gathering and training space. They'd obviously utilised the same expansion magic that was used in magical tents.

Dagomir leaned over something on a large table in what appeared to be a facsimile of the war room at the fortress, and a jolt chased through Draco at the familiarity of it.

"Lunae," Dagomir said with a sharp nod. "Thank you for joining us."

Stepping closer to the table with Hugo at his side, Draco peered closer. Almost instantly, he recognised it as a technical drawing of the Nocturnus castle. He forced a swallow, glancing up to meet Dagomir's stare.

"Are we preparing for a raid?" he asked with a bit of a chuckle. Everyone present knew they stood no chance against Avance's forces right now.

But Dagomir shook his head, absently marking out several spots on the map. Draco watched as he conferred with the guards alongside, and together they analysed the map for several more minutes before Dagomir looked up again.

"Weaknesses," the man said by way of explanation. "Blind spots that our guards only discovered from extensive searching of the grounds."

One of the guards tapped several of the marked locations. "Much like the fortress, the castle features underground Apparition channels."

Draco's heart leapt into his throat, recalling that their plan was espionage and reconnaissance.

"This is dangerous," he breathed, catching Dagomir's eye. "Avance will not hesitate to kill any of us on sight."

But Dagomir shook his head, stepping back from the map. Hugo shifted uncomfortably, and Draco presumed he hadn't been aware of the depth of the plan either until now.

"We won't be going onto the premises," Dagomir explained, his gaze snapping up. "Not yet. Not until our forces are strong enough to fight."

Ben stepped forward with a nod towards those around the table. "Our primary plan for the time being is to learn as much as we can. How Avance is defending the castle—how many guards are present, and how well trained they are. Where and how our former Nocturnus are being kept. None of this will require invading Avance's wards or reaching too close onto the grounds."

"For now," Dagomir allowed quietly. He traced a boundary that appeared to delineate the edge of the property. "This is where our wards were established, and given they're forcing Glenneth to utilise his magic, it's reasonable to assume the wards haven't changed."

Nodding, Ben tapped his wand to the map beyond the wards in several spots, and Draco noticed they aligned with the locations Dagomir had referred to as blind spots. "We'll dispatch units beyond these points. It will be the safest place to observe Avance and learn more while being able to easily Disapparate if the need arises."

Although it sounded as if they'd worked through the plan, Draco was still hesitant at the idea of sending any more guards into possible trouble. Not when their numbers had taken a significant hit.

Furthermore, many of the guards—and Dagomir himself—were friends. Draco couldn't stand the thought of losing any more.

But even so, he recognised that the plan was the best way to learn more about Avance's present occupation of the Nocturnus Castle. And if they were going to infiltrate and attack at any point in the future, they would need as much information as possible.

Glancing sidelong, Draco met Hugo's gaze for an instant; he could see the caution in his adviser's stare returning his own, but as he turned towards the map again, Hugo nodded. "Obviously there is no need to tell anyone what we're up against here. Any guard contingents that even go near that castle will need to be as careful as possible."

"Right," Draco murmured, turning towards Dagomir and Ben. "If the option is an opportunity to learn something about Avance or to escape safely, your guards will choose the latter." Clenching his jaw, he added a gruff, "And that's a direct order."

Something flashed behind Dagomir's stare, and he offered a sober nod. "Very well, Lunae. I will be certain they all understand."

Ben folded his arms. "It's imperative that we get ahead of them. If Avance thinks we're holed up licking our wounds, let them believe it. Meanwhile we're preparing our offense once more. With all of their spies exposed, they have no way of knowing what we're up to this time. Let _them_ see how it feels."

Feeling a surge of determination in his chest, Draco nodded, even as he felt a dull prod of magic reach for his damaged core. A smile tugged, almost unwittingly, at his lips as Hermione slipped up alongside him, lacing her fingers with his as she ducked in towards the map.

She gazed in silence for a long moment as the rest of them waited; Draco gave her hand a squeeze when she stood upright once more, her eyes tight on Dagomir.

"We're infiltrating?" she asked, her fingers tense in his.

"Not quite yet," Dagomir responded. Beneath the tension in his words, Draco could tell how badly the man wanted to storm in, wands waving. But they would only have one shot at their retaliation, and they would need to make it count.

Draco's lips twitched with a quiet, "We're spying."

"Good." Hermione huffed a humourless sort of chuckle, exchanging a brief glance with each of them around the table. "It's about time Avance has a taste of their own medicine."

Dagomir flashed a rare grin. "Indeed, Lunae Amor."

* * *

After their meeting with Dagomir, Hugo, and the guards, Hermione filled Draco in on what she had learned from her interactions that morning with Madeline. He'd been surprised to learn of the way Cosette was attempting to control the defected Nocturnus members and that she feared the loyalty would be swayed.

"I suppose I figured Madeline was a one-off," he said quietly, "since she's involved with Hugo."

"Same," Hermione mused idly as they wandered the grounds. "But it'll be interesting to see what we can learn—combined with Dagomir's plan for reconnaissance at the Nocturnus Castle."

"I still can't believe that," Draco growled, fury clawing at his throat once more at the thought of it. The castle was Hermione's favourite place, and he'd come to imagine the thought of them relocating there one day, once all of this was over. Maybe it had only ever been a dream.

She released a long sigh as they both took a seat in one of the sporadic benches that dotted the grounds; this one faced a small garden that Narcissa had taken to tending each morning, and bright flowers had begun to bloom.

"I know," she said at last, gazing out towards the horizon. "But I suppose it's just another reason to do what needs to be done." Her gaze darted towards his. "Without hesitating."

Draco nodded, pursing his lips in consideration. "Hugo and I had a conversation… about his father. And Cosette."

Hermione hummed, idly drawing the affiliation into her palm; he felt a brief spasm of envy coupled with awe at how proficient she'd become in the days since they'd arrived in Spain. Pressing her palms together, she asked, "What did he have to say about it?"

"He wants Cosette," Draco said simply; her brows flickered in surprise, but she didn't say anything. "And he doesn't want to be the one to take out his father."

"Understandable."

Quietly, Draco admitted, "I wasn't sure whether he was going to argue that one."

Hermione thinned her lips as she separated her hands, each one shimmering equally with the power of the affiliation. "It's an impossible situation, isn't it? Hugo knows what's at stake, and he knows what his father's done. Under Nocturnus law, Elias should be sentenced to death for treason."

"He's still his father."

"True." The word was barely a whisper from her lips, and before Draco could say anything he felt her fingers curl around the muscles of his neck and shoulders; his eyes fluttered shut as his head pitched forward, the warmth of the affiliation infusing his tight muscles with relief. Hermione pressed a kiss to the curve of his jaw with a soft, "You're so tense."

He had never thought to utilise the affiliation for a purpose so banal, but now he wondered why he hadn't, feeling the magic and skill of her fingers as she kneaded a tight knot in his shoulder.

"That," Draco choked out, "feels amazing."

She carefully maneuvered him so his back was to her as she idly carried on. "So I had a thought, and hear me out—"

"You want something," he chuckled, "of course you do. Butter me up and—" a groan slipped his lips as she hit a tender spot "—this is very Slytherin of you, Granger."

"I learned from the best, didn't I?" she quipped, and he caught the curve of her smile when he glanced over his shoulder before she returned to her work on his seized muscles. "I know Nocturnus is ancient and archaic and hasn't changed its methods in _millennia_—"

Draco didn't even have any words to respond, given how her touch had him feeling. He was torn between melting into her touch forever or dragging her behind the garden shed.

"We're asking quite a lot of our friends, aren't we?"

The words snapped his attention back, and he rolled his head back towards her with a quiet, "I suppose we are."

"Of course, I know they're our friends," she went on, her fingers pressing into the lines of his collarbone. Draco could feel the brightness of the affiliation racing through him, seeping into his skin and singing in his veins. "But I wonder whether we couldn't offer them… protection in return. I mean, I know it's _limited_ right now, of course."

"Protection," Draco drawled, tilting his head to one side to oblige her ministrations. "Do you mean _in_ Nocturnus?" She fell silent for a long moment as she worked, and Draco processed the thought. "I can't say I haven't considered it."

"I've been thinking about it since you told Harry he was unofficial Nocturnus," she hedged.

Draco's gaze flickered back to meet hers, his heart leaping into his throat. "You're saying it should be official."

"We can alter the oaths," she breathed, "modify the phrasing to suit the council. I just… don't you think Nocturnus could stand to progress a little?"

"Hermione," he murmured with a low chuckle, "has anyone ever told you you're brilliant?"

Her soft lips brushed against the stubble on his cheek with a quiet, "Once or twice."

The wheels in the back of his mind churned as he turned his head to capture her lips in a kiss.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone! Thanks so much for reading the chapter. It's really occurring to me that you are all absolute rock stars for keeping up with this story, especially those of you who have been around for a while. The world has been crazy for a while now and I know I would not have been able to follow a story like this. I love you guys for your support and encouragement.

Special hugs to Alyssa M for making my week.

Alpha and beta team love to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	45. Chapter 45

For nearly a week, things progressed day by day, almost diminutively. But when she looked closely, Hermione could see things begin to shift.

The Nocturnus Guard had begun their initiative of learning as much as possible about the Avance takeover of the Nocturnus Castle, and each time she visited the guards' barracks, more information had been added to the map as well as a running list along one wall. None of it was explicitly much to go off of and certainly didn't give them enough of an edge to risk breaking through the wards, but piecemeal, it made sense.

And theirs would be the long, patient game.

Until the point came where they knew everything there was to know, and Avance wouldn't see them coming.

Draco had continued his efforts to draw his magic out, and most of the time he needed a nudge from her magic to stir his, but the night before he'd been able to cast a basic spell without her assistance. Hermione had been caught with such surprise tears had sprung to her eyes, and she found herself pulled into his embrace before she had a chance to properly react.

Both Hugo and Dagomir had agreed with the idea of expanding their dwindled network of official Nocturnus members, especially since their friends had already been privy to nearly everything that had happened since the battle in Italy.

As Hugo had been working with Hermione to draft a revised version of the oaths, he'd suggested the inclusion of the Arcands as well.

After a week without incident, Madeline had been allowed to attend meals with the rest of them, but out of an abundance of caution, she wasn't allowed to explore the grounds on her own yet or use her own magic. Hugo had been more than willing to act as her guide.

And while Andromeda had been able to return to England, she still frequented the villa often—sometimes with Teddy—to visit with Narcissa. The buzz of life that often lingered was oddly reminiscent of the Manor, and despite the somber circumstances, the energy was brighter.

The austerity of Nocturnus had given way to something else entirely, and it mingled with the affiliation as it danced in her veins. Purpose—_hope_.

While they fought to regain their strength, those who remained of their company were driven by a sort of faith and belief that Hermione knew, without a doubt, Avance lacked.

She could only hope it would give them the edge they so desperately sought.

Hermione ventured into the sitting room after a trip to the barracks only to find Draco seated on the sofa with his wand aloft, staring fiercely at a glass of water. Eyeing him from the doorway, she watched as several droplets of water trickled over the edge of the glass of their own accord, a slow smirk spreading across his lips.

"Very nice," she whispered, drawing his attention up. The smirk broadened into a grin as she took a seat beside him. "When is our company set to arrive?"

"Any time now," he returned, leaning back in his seat as he laid his wand down on the table beside the glass. "Let's hope for good news."

Either Harry or Kingsley—sometimes both—had taken to Portkeying in every second day with updates from England. Even though the information rarely served to further their cause with regards to Avance, it was nice to know what was going on back home and even nicer to see her friends.

Between their updates from the British Ministry, everything the guards had learned, and the occasional message Madeline relayed from Cosette's voice in the back of her mind, they had begun to amass a slow trickle of information.

"I wager," Hermione said, leaning back into Draco's hold, "you'll be able to access the affiliation soon."

His lips grazed her temple with a murmured, "Maybe."

Taking his hand into hers, Hermione allowed her magic to flutter over his crescent marking, searching for the pulse of magic she'd come to recognise. "It's growing stronger." Where before the pulse had been infrequent, abnormal, and faint, she could feel the soothing pressure of it against the pads of her fingers.

Each night, Hermione had taken to infusing her own intention into his magical core, hoping that it would serve to strengthen his magic further, as well as the bond between them.

"I'm trying to tell myself not to be impatient," he said with a heavy sigh, "but it feels like I should be further along than this."

Hermione hummed, releasing his wrist. "I can understand that, but I think you'll get there soon. You'll have more magic than you know what to do with before you realise it."

He only muttered into her hair, "I love you for never giving up on me."

Before Hermione could respond, a dull flush creeping into her cheeks, a quiet swoosh filled the room and a smile spread across her face as she leapt to her feet.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, engulfing Harry in a hug before turning to flash a wide smile at Daphne, who stood alongside him looking a little out of sorts. "Daphne—it's wonderful to see you both."

Draco rose from the sofa, extending a hand towards Harry with a grin, before pulling Daphne into a brief hug. As they all made themselves comfortable, Hugo slipped into the room with Madeline; the girl offered a brief wave before vanishing back towards her room while Hugo dropped into an armchair, offering the newcomers a nod.

Leaning forward, Draco interlocked his fingers and turned to address the rest of the room. "What news can you share with us from England?"

Daphne and Harry exchanged a look, and Harry turned back towards Draco with a grimace. "Not all that much to be honest, mate. Kingsley would like to be able to offer more assistance, but the Ministry can only do so much, especially since you aren't currently located in England."

"We can't be in England right now," Hermione deadpanned.

Particularly given, from the last update they'd heard, the Manor was still unlivable. They'd toyed with the idea of returning to reconstruct it, but ultimately they were safer where they were. If they were to return to the Manor, no matter how heavily warded the property, they'd be sitting ducks as soon as Avance realised where they were.

"I know," Harry responded. "It's just the way of it right now. From what I've heard, the French Minister Laurent hasn't returned to France in nearly a week. The Ministry has begun a search since the business between Nocturnus and Avance is hazy to the public eye at best. They've initiated an interim minister for the time being."

Hermione felt an uneasy churn in her stomach at the thought of how much disruption all of this had caused in France from the very beginning when they'd decided to step in.

It felt like so long ago now.

"But all in all," Harry went on, his tone chipper, "it seems as if things in France have otherwise calmed down. Laurent was able to set the cogs in motion to overturn the aggressive anti-creature policies originally put forth by Arcand."

"Good," Hermione breathed, sinking back into her seat. While it was nice to see her friends and to stay updated, none of this was particularly relevant to their cause at the moment. It was reassuring, however, to know that the standard of living for creatures in France would return to how it had been.

If nothing else, they'd achieved _that_.

"Listen, Potter," Draco cut in, exchanging an anxious glance across the room with Hugo; the other man nodded before drawing a scroll from his pocket, crossing the room to offer it to Harry. "We have something to discuss with you."

Hermione caught Draco's stare, feeling a smile curl her lips as Harry and Daphne peered at the letter, furrows in their brows.

At last Harry looked up from the page. "You want us to… join the Nocturnus Order? Is that even possible?"

Draco offered a wry grimace. "I know it looks like a losing proposition right now—" he paused while the room gave a collective snicker "—but you've done more to help us than most. We'd like to repay the favour and offer our support and protection in return. Once we're strong enough again, of course."

"To answer your additional question," Hugo added, "yes. The ruling Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order—no matter how precarious the rule—is able to alter the stipulations surrounding Nocturnus oaths." Looking uncertain, he went on quietly. "The Nocturnus Order hasn't sought to expand in three centuries."

Harry looked briefly towards Daphne, a flush in his cheeks before he offered a stiff nod. "It would be an honour."

A smile curling her lips, Daphne said, "We'd love to."

"Great," Draco said, clapping his hands together. A smirk drifted across his lips. "There aren't a lot of people who have our trust right now, but those who do have it in spades. We'll gather a group—make a bit of a celebration of it. Merlin knows we could all use a break from the bad news."

"Agreed," Harry said with a wry grin.

Hermione felt a swell of reassurance in her chest, and there was something special about seeing Draco and Harry finally getting along. It only took chaos in abundance and the threat of death for them to realise they weren't that different after all.

Catching Draco's eye, she murmured a soft, "Wonderful."

* * *

That evening, after Draco had checked in with the guards, Theo and Blaise came over with several bottles of Firewhisky. They'd both been keen on the idea of joining Nocturnus, and while their group was still small—and would likely remain so—it was promising to know they had people on their side who they _knew_, implicitly, they could trust.

When he asked his mother whether she would like to plan an oath-taking ceremony in the near future, she had appreciated the idea, more so than he had even anticipated.

Dagomir had been keeping the guard contingents coming and going from the vicinity of the Nocturnus Castle around the clock in an effort to learn everything they possibly could. But many of them were around and joined the small gathering in the villa; even Dagomir himself, looking slightly resigned, ventured into the house.

Narcissa, who wasn't keen on the idea of a raucous party, had vanished to the parlour to read.

And when Draco ventured into the kitchen, he was surprised to see Podski had outdone himself with a large spread of food. He hadn't intended the evening to turn into a party when he'd invited his two best mates over, but maybe it was about time they did something _fun_.

He came up behind Hermione, selecting some hors d'oeuvres from her plate, and a grin stretched across her face as he banded his arms around her midsection.

"Does it feel weird," he murmured in her ear, "to have a party in the midst of war?"

"It does," she admitted, turning her head to briefly capture his lips, "but maybe it'll be a good thing. The guards have been working themselves to the bone—"

"Dagomir has been," Draco cut in with a grin.

"_Dagomir _has been working the guards to the bone," Hermione corrected, "and they could use a night off." Turning on the spot, she eyed him for a moment. "Maybe we all could."

"You're right," he mused, tugging her in closer. The jubilant atmosphere had done wonders to ease the strain on his heart. "How did I get so lucky as to wind up with a wife who knows _so many things_?"

Colour suffused her cheeks as she smiled up at him. "I could say the same about my husband."

Plucking a bite from her plate, he flashed her a grin before setting out to prepare a plate of his own.

Hugo drifted into the room, one arm slung over Madeline's shoulders as he clapped Draco on the back. "I didn't know we were having a party, but I am _not_ complaining."

"You're also not _indulging, _please," Draco murmured, lifting a brow. "In case any issues arise, I need everyone able to snap back to it with a sober-up potion."

He'd never directly broached the topic of Hugo's recreational potions usage, but he'd also not seen the man utilise any since that first time in the Nocturnus Castle. And certainly, he'd had no cause to acquire any since they'd fled Italy.

Hugo only offered a somber shake of his head. "You don't need to worry about that, Lunae."

The words affirmed what Draco had already suspected—that Hugo had long ago started to take his duties more seriously. He offered a nod. "Then enjoy yourselves."

He and Hermione ventured back into the nearest sitting room, where Dagomir and several of the guards were involved in some sort of game with dice and playing cards. Even the gruff and serious Head of the Guard appeared to be enjoying himself.

When he selected an empty sofa, dragging Hermione down with him, she tucked herself into his side, stretching her legs across his lap as she picked at her plate.

"This is nice," she said softly, observing the activity going on around them. He caught the sparkle in her eyes as she dragged her fingers almost absently along his crescent.

Draco had begun to recognise the distant pulse of his magic responding to hers; in an effort to enjoy the evening, he decided to put the thoughts of his own damaged core aside. Little by little he was seeing improvement, and that was all he could hope for.

But still, he could feel his magic as he relaxed, enjoying the gentle warmth of it swelling in his veins, although it had nothing on the way it had felt to have the affiliation roaring within him.

He rolled his head along the back of the sofa to look at Hermione, an absent smile lingering on his lips as they ate in silence.

At last Hermione spoke up, quietly enough that no one else could listen in. "I can't help but wonder what it will take in the end. The guards have been doing so much, but our numbers are _so_ low."

"I know," he mused, idly eyeing the dice game going on in the centre of the room; there appeared to be a gambling mechanism whereby they wagered knuts and sickles. And as far as he could tell, Dagomir was handily beating everyone else. "We're going to need to discover something big before we can even consider making a move." He caught her stare. "At least we're here and we're safe."

She offered a small smile. "Safe and together." Sinking back, she mused, "I wish we could see what's actually going on in Italy."

"Let's go," he said with a smirk. "Along with one of the patrols."

Hermione snickered. "I highly doubt Dagomir will let you go on a patrol. Especially without your magic fully operational."

"You're probably right," he murmured, watching the mechanics of the game closely; it was simpler than it appeared at first glance. "At any rate, it certainly _would_ be nice." With a thick swallow, he met her stare. "I'm going to jump in for a game."

He rose from his seat, lips twitching as she shifted into the corner of the sofa, sipping from her drink. Dropping into an empty seat at the games table, he met Dagomir's stare, lifting his brows.

The man offered a wry chuckle. "Do you know how to play, Lunae?"

Draco offered a flippant shrug, nodding towards the cards. "Not particularly. But I'm a quick learner."

For a moment, Dagomir stared at him as the other guards fell silent, grins spreading across their faces. At last he said, "I'm not going to take your money."

"I don't want to wager money," Draco said, leaning back in his seat. Although they'd left Lithuania with nothing, his mother and Andromeda had brought plenty of galleons with them when they arrived. But he wasn't interested in money. Catching Dagomir's stare, he breathed, "I'd like to wager a favour."

A chuckle broke out between the guards; in his periphery, Draco could see Hugo and Madeline join Hermione on the sofa. Her chocolate eyes were zeroed in on him as she observed the discussion.

"A favour," Dagomir echoed, frowning. "Games aside, Lunae, you know I would—"

Draco smirked. "Humour me."

At last the man chuckled, offering a sturdy hand across the table; Draco shook his hand, feeling a faint shimmer of magic to commit the wager. "Whatever you ask, Lunae." Draco had been watching carefully while the game had been going on, and he hadn't seen the man consume a drop of alcohol—not that he found that even remotely surprising. Dagomir wasn't the type to drop his guard for any reason; the fact that he was even engaging in a game was rare.

Idly, Draco watched as he shuffled the cards, trying to remember everything he'd picked up from studying the gameplay. He rolled his dice, drawing cards from the deck as he'd seen. Dagomir remained silent as they played through the game.

And though Draco could feel Hermione's stare lingering on him, he did his best to keep focused. Actually playing the game was more complex than he'd realised from watching, and Dagomir was well-versed in the strategy of it. But it included a small element of luck that he would need to rely on.

Dagomir played his last roll of the dice—a four and a six—before exposing his final cards, the Jack of Spades and King of Hearts.

Frowning, Draco flashed Hermione a look as he dragged a hand along the back of his neck. Picking up his dice, he rattled them for a moment before releasing them onto the table. A four and a five. He blew out a breath, eyes darting up to meet Dagomir's narrowed hazel ones. Then he selected two cards from his hand, exposing a suited Queen and Ace.

A raucous cheer went up from the guards as Dagomir huffed a curse under his breath, shaking his head good-naturedly. Somehow—mostly through the luck of the draw—Draco's plan _hadn't_ backfired. He flashed his Head of the Guard a grin.

Dagomir let out a sigh of resignation. "You've bested me Lunae; what favour do you seek?"

Draco darted his tongue out to moisten his lips, gaze flickering briefly to Hermione again before drifting back. "Take me on a patrol to the castle."

Silence fell across the table.

"Absolutely not," Dagomir snipped, scowling. But Draco recognised the flicker of magic from the wager drift across his skin, and he knew Dagomir felt it as well when the man's frown deepened. "It's unsafe, especially without your magic."

"I promise I'll stay out of the way."

They stared one another down from across the table for a long moment, and Draco could see the other man regretted making the wager. But he only leaned back in his seat, lifting a brow. "I won't do anything stupid, and I'll stay well back from the wards. I just want to see the situation there."

It was facetious, since Dagomir couldn't back out of the magical wager, but he made his displeasure known as he sunk back into his seat. "Very well."

Draco could only imagine what sort of rules and stipulations the man might put in place, but he'd allow him that, so long as he had a chance to witness for himself what was going on in Italy.

With a snicker, Ben clapped him on the shoulder. "Beginner's luck, Lunae. Stay and play another round."

For a moment he considered bowing out and quitting while he was ahead, but it had been so long since he'd allowed himself to relax and unwind that he nodded, shooting a wink at Hermione, who only stared at him with a secretive smile on her lips as she engaged in conversation with Hugo and Madeline. Theo and Blaise had slipped onto the next sofa, joining the group.

It felt almost carefree to sit back in his seat as Ben dealt the cards for a new game, discussing menial subject matter. Almost more valuable to Draco in that moment was the idea that they were all on the same level playing field.

The guards weren't looking after him, prepared to give their lives if need be—they were just his friends. It had been so long since anything had felt so simple.

After several games he'd just about figured out the strategy of it. And while Dagomir still looked vaguely disgruntled that he'd been bested, he'd been laughing and joking with the rest of them. Draco stifled a yawn, considering calling it a night, when the atmosphere in the room shifted, the idle chatter dropping off.

Instinctively, his gaze leapt to Hermione, whose eyes were fixed on Madeline. The girl wore a deep frown, her fingers coiled around Hugo's forearm. Dagomir rose from his seat, wand already drawn, and Draco felt his heart jump as he followed suit.

It took several moments for Draco to realise Hugo had a firm grip on Madeline so she couldn't move, and idly, Hermione stood from her seat and made her way towards Draco as he stared, fixated, at the girl.

He hadn't seen Madeline behave in any way incongruent to loyal, but they were surrounded by guards.

"Forsake your loyalty to Nocturnus," Madeline gasped; her voice was quiet but in the sudden silence of the room her words carried with an eerie stillness.

"Cosette," Dagomir muttered, "the voice."

When Draco looked closer he realised Madeline's stare was tight, as if she were focused. A tight breath of relief chased from his lungs.

"She says, 'Nocturnus is defeated. No one is coming for you.'" Madeline scrunched up her face, her breathing a little heavy as she shook her head, her grip a vise on Hugo's arm. "You've been abandoned by those you once claimed to serve."

"Cosette fears defection," Hermione breathed at his side; Dagomir cast her a sharp stare. "She must, if she's using her control over the former Nocturnus Order to force these thoughts."

Dagomir growled, "Cosette fears a power that isn't truly hers."

The idea of it stirred something in the core of Draco's being. Conviction mingled with a soft, quaking fury that he felt in the flicker of his magic.

Into the heavy tension of the room, he asked, "Did she say anything else?"

Madeline's stare snapped up to his. Although her eyes were a little glassy, her gaze was clear. He wondered whether she had to force herself not to move against them or if she'd managed to control the impulses since arriving at the villa. "Cosette believes the Lunae Ortus to be dead."

As the words settled into the back of Draco's mind, he felt Hermione's fingers lace with his. Despite everything else, a smirk pulled at his lips before spreading into a slow grin, the feeling of it building in his chest.

"That," Draco mused to the room as a whole, "is the best fucking news I've heard in a long time."

* * *

**Author's** **Note: **Hey everyone, thanks as always for reading! I appreciate you all so much. Also, I am now quite certain this story will land at 57 chapters and I have just three more to write! Until next time xoxo

Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	46. Chapter 46

_There might have been some issues with the update notifications for last chapter, so please be sure you've read 45 first! xo_

* * *

As it turned out, when Dagomir finally told Draco they'd arranged for him to join a patrol, several days after the night of the gathering wherein they'd set a wager, it was with Ben and Dagomir himself.

Draco hadn't seen Dagomir venture out of the barracks on any of the patrols, commanding things from the base, but he supposed he couldn't blame him.

Little by little, his magic was returning to him. He suspected that was part of the reason why Dagomir had waited several days—although the guards were still returning with fresh information quite often, and the more they knew, the less likely they were to run into trouble.

To his surprise, Hermione hadn't been upset he had failed to include her in his wager. Even though she was far more capable of defending herself—or maybe _because _of the fact that she'd been fostering a connection with the affiliation—she was fine to stay back.

It had been one thing, months back, to reveal the fact that he had been in control of the ancient lunar magic.

But if Avance discovered that Hermione had access to it, their biggest surprise advantage would be lost.

And if he was honest, Hermione had been manipulating the affiliation in ways he hadn't considered. She had begun using the magic for menial tasks, to the point where she didn't always need to carry her wand anymore because the affiliation was so keen to do her bidding.

Draco longed to feel the rich wealth of its magic again.

But more than that, he was glad that _one_ of them could use it. He knew Hermione didn't use her magic to flaunt it but rather to test it and stretch it and draw out its uses—even more so than he'd ever done.

With his wand, he could cast basic spells with consistency, and he hoped it would be enough if they ran into trouble at the castle.

According to Dagomir, there hadn't been any issues wherein Nocturnus guards had been revealed, and the man had been stern with regards to the fact that _their_ patrol would not be the one to go awry.

It had been weeks now since they'd arrived at the villa, and Draco hadn't left the grounds since. On several occasions, Hugo had Apparated into the nearest town, fully glamoured, to collect various provisions, but the rest of them hadn't gone anywhere. With the exception of their friends who had their own Portkeys.

He felt a slow creeping of nerves as he prepared for the day in his Nocturnus armour—staring at it, he could still remember the way he had felt, up on that fortress with flashes of magic chasing in every direction. The way it had felt to unleash the affiliation from his palm. The faces of those who had fallen by his hand.

Idly, Draco wondered whether he would ever forget the visages seared into the back of his mind.

Hermione came up behind him, coiling her arms around his waist as he sat on their bed. He shifted, dragging her beside him to meet her stare.

"Please be careful," she whispered, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth. "I know you will—but be extra careful."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Extra _extra_ careful."

"Even better," she breathed, her lips brushing his before she pulled away, her face serious. "I love you. I'm proud of you."

Cradling her face between his hands, he murmured, "I love you so much."

He still wondered, every day, how he'd been so lucky.

She caught his wrist within her fingers, ducking in for another kiss and deepening the kiss as her other hand swept through his hair. He felt a flicker of the affiliation infuse into his crescent, her magic coursing into him and drawing his own awake.

When she drew back, Hermione smiled at him. He returned the gesture with a soft, "Thank you."

She still dragged her fingers along his wrist in an idle gesture; a habit. "I need you to remember," she whispered, the smile fading from her lips, "that your magic _is_ here inside you. If you get into trouble and need it—I believe it will come forth."

It was such a simple thought, and while they both knew it to be easier said than done, after so many days of slow progress, it was reassuring all the same.

"And for Merlin's sake, come home to me."

"I promise," Draco said, smirking as he planted another kiss to her lips. "Dagomir hasn't said how long we'll be—probably in case he decides to cut the patrol short. But I'll be back before you know it."

Her lips curled with a hint of a smile. "I'm sure I can trust Dagomir to bring you home at a respectable hour." As an afterthought, she added, "Have fun."

With a facetious roll of his eyes, Draco rose from his seat. "See you later."

* * *

One other guard contingent was patrolling the area around the Nocturnus Castle simultaneously, but on the opposite side. Every guard had been given a charmed galleon—an ingenious idea of Hermione's from Hogwarts—in case they needed to communicate with one another while in the field.

Draco felt a nervous sort of anticipation course through him as he trekked the route Ben and Dagomir had arranged for the day in order to show him as much as possible. He appreciated the effort.

They stayed well back from the castle, to the point where he could just barely see it on the horizon, but he knew they were just beyond the exterior edge of the wards. More than anything, he'd been interested to see how Avance was acting.

If they were nonchalant and unconcerned, it would fit with the narrative that Cosette was spreading that he had died and Nocturnus had collapsed.

But the fact that she still feared the former Nocturnus' defection left him wary.

He wondered whether she _actually_ believed he'd died.

By all rights he should have, and the only reason he could think of why he didn't was because Hermione's fledgling grip on the affiliation had been enough to keep him tethered to her magic during those precarious hours he couldn't remember.

Glenneth might have believed the spell had drained him of not only his magic but his life as well.

It implanted a gentle seed of hope in his soul every time he thought of it.

Now that Draco was at the castle, however, he couldn't see much of anything going on. The only way to see further into the grounds would be to breach the wards, which would undo weeks of hard and stealthy effort.

"As you can see," Ben said as he led their small group towards a small grove of trees for cover, "there isn't a lot of activity. Sometimes it spikes but it seems random—or else we haven't discovered the pattern yet." Dagomir had let Ben take the lead since he hadn't been on any of the patrols—and all three of them walked with their wands carefully aloft.

Quietly, Dagomir added, "There are still many things we've yet to learn."

"At half noon, the nearest Avance patrol will come this way, but they rarely linger," Ben said, glancing down at his watch as he cast a disillusionment charm over Draco; Dagomir did likewise to himself.

Draco felt a sting of colour creep up into his face at the thought that he needed his spells performed for him, but disillusionment wasn't simple, and if he did it wrong it could be disastrous.

"Now we wait?" he breathed to the others.

Ben nodded. "Should be along any minute."

He wasn't wrong.

Shortly thereafter Draco could see a handful of people in the distance, but judging by the tightening of Ben's expression, it wasn't what he'd expected.

"Usually not so many," he bit out gruffly; Dagomir cast the guard a careful glance but remained silent. As he shifted further behind a tree he breathed, "There."

Draco followed his stare, squinting to see closer from the distance, but he could only vaguely make out people in Avance robes breaking off towards the perimeter.

At his other side, Dagomir froze, a low curse breaking from his lips. Instantly, his hand coiled around Ben's thick forearm, holding the man in place. Startled, Ben peered closer, and Draco watched as the blood drained from the man's face.

Through a clenched jaw—and with his wand clasped in white knuckles—Ben ground out, "Cynthia."

"Don't," Dagomir huffed.

As Draco observed the situation, he glanced back, realising it was Cynthia Bergen they'd spotted. She wasn't among the rest of the people who had emerged but the patrol. By the way Dagomir still held Ben firmly to the spot and the pained expression crossing Ben's face, the pieces fell into place and Draco blew out a breath.

"You and Cynthia," he murmured.

Ben's expression was contrite as he nodded his head. "I didn't think she was working _with_ her father—Hugo wasn't, so..."

As the man trailed off, his lips thinning into a tight line, Dagomir released him but clapped a hand to his shoulder with a quiet, "Sorry, Ben."

Draco's mind skimmed through his past interactions with Cynthia Bergen. He'd never had any issues with the girl in the handful of times she'd visited the Manor, but now that Elias had betrayed them, all of those memories were coloured in doubt.

She'd always been so warm and kind, and she was Hugo's sister; he'd spoken highly of her, and Draco could only imagine the visceral hurt Hugo would feel if he'd been there in that instant.

"What if she isn't?" he whispered.

Two sets of eyes snapped towards him. Draco hesitated for a moment before offering a shrug. "I'm only thinking... what if she wasn't involved in Elias' plan with Cosette? You said yourself Hugo wasn't. Maybe she's being forced against her will or she believes that Nocturnus _is_ actually dead and doesn't see another option."

"Dangerous speculation," Dagomir said. "What if she is?"

They all fell silent again.

Draco was the one to break the tension again, and he wondered whether his loyalty to Hugo pressed his words. Whether he was, once more, being too quick to trust.

"If she isn't," he said quietly, "and I don't know how we're meant to find out, either way—but… she's _inside_ Avance."

He watched the moment the idea clicked with Dagomir, the man's expression shifting. But Ben growled a harsh, "No. You can't ask her to spy. They'll kill her if they find out."

"It's hypothetical," Draco murmured, holding Dagomir's stare. "_If_ she holds loyalty to Nocturnus, it could be our best shot."

For a long moment Dagomir remained silent, absently scratching at his thick beard, and Draco could almost see the cogs churning in his brain. "The question is," he muttered at last, "how do we find out? And if she _is_ loyal in her heart, how do we keep her safe?"

Ben sagged with relief, resignation written on his face. Despite his personal feelings for the girl, he was one of the most loyal of the Nocturnus Guard, and Draco knew he would recognise the opportunity for what it was.

In the distance, Cynthia and her partner drifted closer, away from everyone else.

"The patrol passes within range of the edge of this grove," Ben breathed, his hand still tight around his wand and thick tension in his shoulders. "If we're going to do anything, that's our chance."

As Dagomir scrubbed a hand down his face, he shook his head. "I have an idea but it's ludicrous. We should send the Lunae Ortus back to the villa."

"Not a chance," Draco snapped. He was tired of feeling useless and if there was a chance they could discover something useful, he wanted to do whatever he could. "If she is loyal to Nocturnus, she'll want to see I'm alive."

"If she isn't?" Dagomir asked, and the words once more hung between them.

"Then we wipe her memory," Ben supplied, his stare still haunted but back to business. They each shared a look before nodding.

Gazing once more beyond the edge of the grove, Dagomir drew his charmed galleon from his pocket and tapped it with its wand. The word _Cynthia_ shimmered along the surface. With a grimace and a huffed expletive under his breath, he ducked out from behind the grove as the patrol neared and stunned the Avance man with Cynthia.

As the man crumpled Cynthia froze, wand aloft as she peered out, her gaze sliding towards the trees.

They were still fully disillusioned, but it made the most sense—especially when Dagomir levitated the galleon in her direction, the coin nudging her in the shoulder before it dropped to the ground.

The three of them watched in careful silence as Cynthia bent to retrieve the coin, her eyes wide and startled as she gazed upon the face of it. Draco could see a flicker of fear cross her face at the realisation that she was being watched, her partner unconscious on the ground beside her.

"Who's there?" she called, a slight tremble in her voice, even as she edged closer still to the trees.

While they could see each other, she wouldn't be able to see them unless they revealed themselves, and Dagomir quirked a brow at Ben, as if to give him a signal. Blowing out a breath, Ben lifted the charm from himself, leaving Draco's intact.

Cynthia stared in shock for a moment, her mouth falling open, before she cried, "Ben!" She threw herself into the guard's burly chest, her wand hand dropping to her side; Ben remained rigid until she drew back. "Are you here alone?"

Draco took a step back, careful to avoid crunching the brush beneath his feet as he shared a glance with Dagomir.

"No," Ben replied at last, frowning. "But that isn't important right now."

The air shifted when Cynthia realised Ben hadn't lowered his wand, leaving her on the wrong side of a potential altercation. Something flashed across her expression Draco couldn't quite place and he tensed, wondering if they'd made a huge mistake in revealing their presence. They would already have to Obliviate the man she'd been with, but if Cynthia _was_ in fact loyal to Elias, they would need to erase the encounter from her memory as well.

"Ben, I—" She choked as she cut herself off, staring blankly into the woods around them. Draco felt his heart rate escalate in his chest; disillusionment wasn't complete invisibility and if she looked close enough she'd be able to see the shimmer of magic. Panic flitted across her face. "I need you to know I didn't know everything—"

"So you knew something," Ben returned, a heavy furrow in his brow.

Her countenance sank with despair. "I didn't know all of my father's plans. What he meant to do to the Lunae Ortus, or to Hugo or—" A stifled sob slipped from her lips.

Draco had learned a hard lesson about trusting Bergens, and as he glanced towards Dagomir, the man's tight gaze fixed on Cynthia, he suspected he wasn't alone in doubting the sincerity of her words.

Frowning, Ben plucked Dagomir's galleon from her palm, his other hand curling around her fingers to take her wand; she didn't resist. "Then what did you know?"

"Only that Father had plans of his own—he said it was best for my own safety that he didn't share the details with me. I did _not_ know he was working with that vile woman!"

Draco noted Ben's care to keep his attention on Cynthia without drawing attention to him or Dagomir, but the man scowled into the bushes beyond even so. "You ought to have said something—under Nocturnus law—"

"I know," Cynthia sniffed.

Ben folded his arms, staring at the girl for a long, appraising moment wherein Draco held his breath for fear of giving himself away. At last he sighed. "I don't know how to trust you." His gaze flickered towards Dagomir. "We'll have to Obliviate her."

"No!" Cynthia cried, tears breaking from her eyes. "Please, Ben—Cosette said everyone else from the council was hunted down and killed after the battle. Can you tell me—do you know if Hugo is alive?" Even as she spoke the words, she followed Ben's stare to where Dagomir stood, her eyes tightening when she must have detected the charm.

Scowling, Dagomir revealed himself, stepping towards Cynthia. To her credit, she stood her ground in the face of two of the most intimidating men Draco knew.

"Dagomir." She swiped a hand beneath one eye. "I'm so relieved to see you both."

"Hugo is alive." Dagomir folded his arms as he towered over the girl, carefully contained fury on his face. "But unless you tell us the truth you'll never see him again."

Cynthia swallowed, her gaze flitting between them. "All my father told me was that he wasn't content with the way the Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor were running the Order. He said that Nocturnus ought to have belonged to the House of Bergen." She paused for a moment, watching as Ben and Dagomir exchanged a glance. "But I didn't know he was meaning to _do_ anything about it!"

"So why work for him now?" Dagomir asked, waving a hand towards her fallen partner. "Why are you out here patrolling like you're one of them?"

"I was frightened," she gasped, more tears breaking still from her eyes. "I thought everyone was dead and I thought if I didn't go along with what they said—look how easily my father was willing to sacrifice Hugo's life. I thought I'd be next."

Silence descended on the group of them; Draco still couldn't get a read on whether the girl was being honest or if she was simply a good actor. His cohorts looked equally uncertain.

As if she recognised the situation, Cynthia sagged. "I understand if you have to clear this visit from my memory. Will you please tell Hugo I'm alive and I love him?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And that I'm so sorry about the Lunae Ortus."

Pain was written in the tight lines of Ben's face as he stared at the woman, a deep frown curving his lips downwards. Still clasping her wand, he took a step back out of Cynthia's hearing range; taking his cue, Dagomir followed and Draco stepped forward.

"If she's lying," Dagomir began, "we're all fucked."

"But if she isn't," Ben muttered.

Tension hung between the three of them for an uneasy moment before Dagomir turned towards Draco and said in scarcely a breath, "If she still bears loyalty to Nocturnus—beneath the forced shift—you'll be able to command her."

Draco frowned. "I don't have the affiliation."

"That shouldn't matter," the man returned. "It's our only way of knowing for sure and if she doesn't respond to the command we'll know she's forsaken her oaths. If she's lying, we'll erase both their memories; if she's telling the truth… she may be able to help us."

Without any further hesitation, Draco nodded. "Fine."

He didn't know anything about commanding another person, as it wasn't something he'd ever sought to do, but he'd read about it in the old journals. Lunaes past had used the power for unsavoury means but Draco had never given it a second thought.

Ben and Dagomir strode back towards Cynthia, standing by the edge of the trees with misery written in her face, and Draco edged along behind them, his wand hand hovering by his waist on instinct.

Then Ben removed the charm concealing Draco from Cynthia's view.

At once she released an unintelligible cry, her head dropping into a deep bow. When she peered back up at him, as if in disbelief, tears streamed once more down her cheeks. "You're alive," she gasped.

Rolling his eyes, Draco muttered, "You should know better than to listen to a word Cosette says."

"Please," Cynthia said, her beseeching eyes turned on Ben once more. "Take me with you—I don't want to be here." Her voice dropped to a broken whisper. "I swear it, Lunae. I didn't know what they were planning."

"We can't," Draco bit out, recognising that nothing could be amiss if they _were_ to trust Cynthia. "Your father can't know anything's wrong."

Confusion flitted across her face before giving way to understanding. "I can help you from inside."

"I command you vow it," he said, feeling a surge of something within his chest, palpable and alive as it mingled with the weak pulse of his magic. His voice came out stronger than he'd intended as he invoked a magic more ancient than he even knew. "On your magic and your life, Cynthia Bergen, that you remain loyal to Nocturnus. That you do not seek to cause us pain and that you will not betray us. If you cannot truthfully do so, remain silent."

An ambient tether of magic reached out from his aura, entwining with Cynthia's as she stared at him in awe.

Draco felt the raw magic surge through him from somewhere beyond him. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the sensation, knowing Lunaes had manipulated the power for darker means.

Her head sank down once more, and she spoke. "I vow it on my magic and my life, Nocturnus is in my heart and none other."

"You will not speak of seeing us today, or of anything you learned." Draco glanced towards Dagomir who nodded.

"I vow it," she whispered.

Draco waited until she looked back up at him, ducking down to meet her gaze, so similar to Hugo's. His voice softened at the tears shining in her eyes. "I will not command this of you, Cynthia Bergen, but should you choose to help us, you will provide great value to that which remains of the Nocturnus Order." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "And I'll arrange for you to see Hugo."

"Please," she breathed, "tell me what I can do."

At least Dagomir nodded, satisfied. Draco stepped back, eyeing each of the small group in turn.

Ben pressed the charmed galleon back into Cynthia's palm with a sort of gentle reverence that made Draco avert his eyes. "We'll use this to communicate with you. Keep it hidden and safe. To respond, only tap the coin with your message in mind."

Cynthia nodded, worrying her lower lip as she tucked the galleon into her pocket.

Leaning back against a tree, Draco checked his watch. They'd need to get back soon; but there was more information they needed.

"What is Cosette doing with the affiliation? Why did she want it so badly?"

All of them turned to stare at Cynthia, who only shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't seen her do anything significant with it yet. Her hatred for Nocturnus runs deep—I wouldn't be surprised if she only wanted it because she seeks some sort of self-righteous claim."

Draco frowned, even though he wasn't surprised. For a long while, the situation had felt personal and he'd wondered whether Cosette had something deeper against him.

Cynthia hesitated, glancing to Ben as if for reassurance. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she cast a brief glance over her shoulder. "Honestly, the problem isn't what Cosette is doing with the affiliation—it's my father."

His heart stopped in his chest, eyes shooting wide.

Cynthia sucked in a sharp breath before going on. "They did something somehow and _split it_ and my father's—" she shook her head "—he's out of control. _Threatening_ any Nocturnus who speak out; he attacked a man the other day, and a few have gone missing."

"He's mad," Dagomir snapped, fury creeping into his face with a deep flush.

But the words only reverberated in the back of Draco's mind, refusing to fit into place and make sense. "_Split it_?"

With an apologetic grimace, Cynthia nodded. "I'm so sorry, Lunae. They both took a part of the affiliation."

Draco's heart plummeted into his stomach.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you as always for reading! I hope you're still enjoying the story. I know it's been a long ride so far but I love to hear your thoughts!

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347, and ravenslight.


	47. Chapter 47

As the days passed, little by little, Draco felt his magic return to him. It wasn't without hard effort, and he often pushed himself to the point of fatigue, but the results were worth the strain. Every night, Hermione focused her intentions with the affiliation into his magical core, but still Draco couldn't draw forth the affiliation.

He wondered whether he would ever regain that.

Because while Hermione had discovered her power over it through the connection and the bond between them, the situation now was different.

He couldn't help but dwell on the idea that both Cosette and Elias had split his former affiliation magic; he didn't know whether it meant they both had half of its power, or if they'd each harnessed it fully as their own. For all they had learned, so many questions remained unanswered.

Draco had seen that part of himself utterly stripped away, nearly taking the rest of his magic—and, indeed, his life force—with it.

He was doing his best to keep his expectations low since it felt like a miracle that he could even perform simple magic with his wand at all, but he couldn't help the spark of hope each time he tried.

Once his wager with Dagomir had come to fruition, he hadn't asked to venture out on another patrol, but in an effort to distract himself from everything else, Draco had taken to spending his days in the guards' lodgings to assist in any way he could.

The game had changed now that Cynthia was in their corner.

While Draco had been hesitant to fully trust her, she knew the situation now, and if she'd wanted them dead and betrayed them, they likely would have heard something by now. But there was no way to fake compliance with the Lunae command, as he had recognised upon meeting her.

Hugo had been ecstatic at a chance to see his sister, and he'd arranged to go on an excursion with Ben several days later. Although it was dangerous for her to work as an inside operative—and he could see the tension in both men when they returned—it was the best shot they had at learning about Avance from inside.

A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips at the bitter irony of Elias Bergen's daughter turning on him after everything he'd done.

And while Draco typically tried not to think ill of anyone—lessons hard learned from the _last_ war he'd been involved in—he couldn't help but add Bergen to the short list, just below Cosette.

"Any news?" he asked as he strode briskly into the barracks, meeting Ben's stare as he hovered over the war table.

The man folded his arms as he shook his head. "Nothing today. Our infiltration patrols are beyond these borders." He tapped several spots on the map. "Whatever Avance is planning, they're still keeping a low profile."

Draco couldn't help the creeping thought that, just maybe, Avance was out of plans.

They'd taken what they wanted, and maybe now they were content to bask in the crumbling ruin of the Nocturnus Order.

"Anything on Glenneth?"

Ben frowned, staring down at the map. "According to Cyn, Avance is keeping Glenneth like little more than a criminal in fear that he'll break free of the thrall they're keeping him in. It's like the Imperius curse but stronger—you saw him at the battle in Italy. His magic is very strong but not enough to overthrow this."

For a moment, Draco caught Ben's stare, silence thick with words unspoken.

At last Draco spoke. "You know what we need to do, right?"

"We need Glenneth." Ben sighed, pacing around the table. "It isn't that simple. From everything Cynthia's told us, he's kept under constant guard, deep within the castle. Nocturnus won't be able to simply walk in."

"Then we need a plan," he went on, dragging a hand along the back of his neck. "If we can recover Glenneth, they can't chokehold our magic."

He didn't bother mentioning the fact that they would still be up against two people in possession of the lunar affiliation. But Glenneth had blocked that before, too.

Dagomir walked up, eyeing the two of them. "It's a ridiculous idea."

A smirk slipped across Draco's face as he met the man's eyes. "Of course it is."

Sighing, he shook his head. "But it is, of course, something we need to do before we expect to unseat Cosette and Elias from _our_ castle."

The smirk widened into a grin.

As the one who had been designated to meet with Cynthia during her patrols, Ben shook his head. "I'll make sure we learn as much as we can about the situation. And then… we'll see about coming up with a plan."

"The other alternative," Draco murmured, gazing down at the map of the castle, "is that we simply learn how to negate the spell. I doubt it would be as simple as taking out Tressel—one thing they aren't is stupid, and they'll have learned from the last time."

"I like that better," Dagomir said, caution underlying his tone, "because we'll be able to keep our element of surprise longer. Then _when we attack_…"

"We reclaim our mage." Draco met his stare.

Ben huffed a loud exhale. "All well and good, Lunae, but _how_?"

The anticipation dissipated from Draco into the air like mist. "Not a bloody clue."

* * *

Draco had left his mother in charge of the oath-taking ceremony they were planning for their friends and other allies, knowing he wouldn't be disappointed.

As he walked onto the grounds in the area she'd prepared, he was right.

Narcissa had been pleased for something to do, and she'd enlisted Andromeda during her frequent visits as an assistant.

The gardens had been arranged similarly to the way the Manor had been during the bonding ceremony, and Draco felt a homesick pang at the thought of what the Manor had become. They still hadn't taken the risk of returning to England, and Potter's assessment was decidedly more vague than Draco would have liked.

The flowers were in full bloom along the path, small fairy lights hung in the air casting a warm hazy glow, and above him only a few wisps of cloud obscured the full brightness of the moon before drifting lazily past.

A large tent was set up to one side with a small assortment of tables and a long buffet table along one wall for one of Podski's infamous spreads.

Hermione and Hugo had spent hours tweaking the oaths so they would be just right to fit the situation. The night carried heavy significance, in that no one had been welcomed into the Nocturnus Order in centuries.

In true Nocturnus fashion, the ceremony would take place at midnight beneath a full moon. It felt reminiscent of both prior Nocturnus ceremonies Draco had been a part of, but yet wholly different.

At his Ascension he'd been alone, stepping into a seat of power that he'd yet to realise the depth of. The thought was oddly sobering—if he had known what was coming, would he have been so keen on the idea when his mother suggested it?

And during the bonding ceremony, Draco had only begun to feel the connection with Hermione that now encompassed their existence together. They'd been light on trust but heavy on hope, and he liked to think that trust had deepened tenfold over the short months since they'd been married on that clear night. That night, thousands had stood in watch.

Draco still had hope, even through everything. Hope that they would prevail in the end, despite the odds. A hope that was only bolstered by his love and trust for Hermione.

Tonight would be a celebration.

The Nocturnus Order was no longer large and powerful; no more was their assorted company characterised by the shine and glamour of an ancient magical civilisation with millennia of tradition behind it. But they were dedicated and focused, and those who remained fought out of more than obligation.

The small group was driven by a belief in Nocturnus. It was humbling to recognise that they believed in him and Hermione to lead them to the other side of the situation.

More than anything, Draco found his belief stemming from those surrounding him.

As he lingered in the tent, Podski popped in and began preparing the buffet; when Draco walked too close to peer at the food, the little elf fired him a look, and he made his way back outside.

With a little over an hour until the ceremony, guards and council mingled in the gardens, and Draco smiled as Hermione came up alongside him.

They'd opted not to wear full Nocturnus regalia but their battle leathers in recognition of the reality of what was at stake in the days and weeks to come. Even so, she was stunning, her sparkling silver coronet perched atop an intricate plaited hairstyle.

"You look beautiful, my Lunae Amor," he mused, planting a kiss to her temple as he drew her briefly into his chest.

"And you," she breathed in return when he drew back, "are regal as ever."

His lips pulled into a smile. "We haven't had anything to celebrate in a while. Our numbers may be small—smaller than can reasonably make a difference against so many—but we have belief."

"That we do," she said, slipping her hand into his. She cast a surreptitious stare towards the tent. "Shall we see what Podski's prepared?"

Draco chuckled, shaking his head. "I was just not-so-subtly directed away from the food."

The chocolate in Hermione's eyes sparkled with the light of the moon, and he realised she almost appeared to shine from within; he wondered whether it was the influence of the affiliation whirring in her veins. "I imagine if we ask _nicely_."

Scoffing, he followed as she ventured back towards the tent. "If _you_ ask nicely, you mean. Podski would do anything for you."

She only flashed him a teasing smile.

* * *

"Theo!" Hermione exclaimed when they ventured back outside after picking at some of Podski's latest creations. "Blaise! It's wonderful to see you both."

Draco turned to his best mates with a grin, clapping each on the shoulder. A surge of hope built in her chest as Hermione looked out to see several others milling about in conversation; towards the far edge of the gardens, she could see Hugo and Madeline with the Arcands. Shortly beyond, Narcissa and Andromeda visited with several guards.

They caught sight of Dagomir, and the man offered a rare grin, ducking his head into a nod. Dagomir had dressed in his Nocturnus best for the occasion, his thick hair and beard groomed as he sidled over.

He wore a pleased expression she'd never seen on his face before, and a hint of curiosity nudged at her below the surface.

But she glanced away when Harry and Daphne walked over, enveloping each into an embrace in turn and holding onto Harry for a long beat. She felt a welling of emotion building within her at the thought that their friends had come to support them, underdogs though they were.

Her eyes stung as she pulled away, but to her surprise Harry turned to face Theo and Blaise.

"Well, Potter?" Theo asked, the question in his words sparking Hermione's curiosity.

"Any minute now," Harry returned, rocking on his heels.

Draco frowned, looking between the small group. "What are you two going on about?"

"What?" Theo drawled, a smirk dragging across his features, "Didn't Dagomir tell you we have some other friends coming?"

Startled, Hermione exchanged a glance with Draco. Dagomir still looked inordinately pleased with himself—for a man typically so serious—and yet nothing made sense. She frowned at Harry, cocking a brow.

"You invited us here to offer us protection from the Nocturnus Order," Harry said quietly, his green eyes searching out her own. "But we've come to show our support for _you_. Both of you."

"And before you tie your knot in a wand over the wards," Theo drawled, fixing Draco with a stern look, "Dagomir's been involved the whole time, and he's vetted everyone."

Draco sucked on his teeth, his eyes squinted. "Who is everyone?" He fired Dagomir a scowl. "And will someone tell us what's going on?"

Dagomir only announced, "You will find out soon."

It was already half an hour until the ceremony was due to begin, and while they hadn't prepared anything overly formal—it was more of an excuse to celebrate with their friends than anything—it felt symbolic that it should occur at midnight.

In a strange way, it felt like a chance to make up for the fact that their friends hadn't been in attendance that night.

Hermione entwined her hand with Draco's, feeling her magic course and twist with his, much stronger than it had been even a week ago. The mark on her own wrist revelled in the deepening of the bond between them once more. His touch soothed the spike of unease that chased through her.

But before she could think too long on it she froze, a breath catching in her throat as a Portkey materialised a short distance away.

Then another. And a third. Three more Portkeys arrived—six in total—and for a moment Hermione's heart missed a beat.

Almost instantly, her eyes stung with tears.

Kingsley Shacklebolt held his own rusted fork Portkey, accompanied by Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Pansy Parkinson.

Her eyes slid to the side, Draco's hand clenching hers like a vice as she took in friends and former classmates materialising on the grounds. People they knew and trusted and loved.

By the time Hermione caught the blue stare of George Weasley, her eyes were so blurred she could hardly tell one Weasley-ginger head from the next: Ron and Charlie and Bill. Dean and Seamus. She had no words, the emotions welling in her chest and throat stemming her comprehension until she remembered Harry's words. _We've come to show our support_.

"Draco," she gasped at last, swiping furiously at her eyes, "I can't believe this."

At her side, he appeared to be lost for words, a heavy furrow in his brow and a glassy sheen to his eyes.

Harry walked up on her other side, coiling his fingers around her shoulder. "We know how difficult it's been for the two of you to ask for help. But the people who know you both the best have your back. Your friends are here with you."

With a stuttering nod, Draco reached an arm around her to clap Harry on the back as he ground out a quiet, "Thanks, Potter."

Hermione shook her head, bewildered, and sought out Harry's bright stare before sneaking an arm around his back, pulling him close as she whispered, "Thank you, Harry."

Within moments, a great anticipatory buzz went up in the gardens, and Hermione found herself pulled into embraces and conversations with old friends who, quite suddenly, were allies. She couldn't manage the swelling of emotion pouring through her, magic sparkling across her skin and dancing along her fingers.

A wealth of happiness raced through her heart when she found herself within a small group of Weasleys, including Ron, who gave her a bit of a begrudging hug and muttered, "You've always been there for me, Hermione. We're here now."

But in the back of her mind she couldn't help but wonder if everyone knew what they were signing up for. Nocturnus wasn't the powerful order it had been even a month prior, and they were staring down the lines of a very one-sided battle in the not so distant future.

Although they wouldn't be diving into _that_ fight without significant preparations. And it was reassuring to know that she had friends alongside.

When she finally caught up with Dagomir, observing the chaos from a distance with what looked like a bottle of pumpkin juice, she didn't hesitate as she dragged him into a tight hug. Drawing back, she met the man's hazel eyes with a quiet, "Thank you, my friend."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Amor," he said, voice thick as he nodded. "But it was your friends who came up with the idea." A roguish grin swept across his face. "I only made sure no traitors came through the wards."

Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know what the wards would have done to someone whose intentions weren't pure, but she smiled all the same. "Draco and I appreciate everything you've done for us." Before he could speak, to diminish his efforts as he was prone to do, she added, "And I know it's been more than is necessary of you."

His eyes shone before he ducked his head. "Thank you, Lunae Amor."

"One day," she chuckled, "you're going to call me Hermione."

Dagomir looked mockingly affronted at the words, but then a wry grin crawled across his face again, and he announced, "It is nearly midnight. Shall we begin?"

Across the gardens, she found Draco's gaze, sparkling with warmth. She turned back to Dagomir with a quiet, "We shall."

* * *

Although a few of the more magically-inclined guards had been training, their council glaringly lacked a high mage. Draco had requested Hugo perform the honours of hosting the oath-taking ceremony, and he had been happy to oblige.

Once everyone had offered their greetings and settled down, Draco had dragged Hermione to the front of the gardens where Hugo had prepared a sort of floral altar; as far as Draco knew, it was simply for appearance and had no bearing on the oaths, but it looked nice all the same.

"Thanks for coming," he announced, feeling a little uncomfortable as the group turned towards him, many of whom were former Gryffindors. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. "Hermione and I are grateful to see every one of you; it's been a tumultuous few months, and it's been easy to forget we have so many friends still willing to look out for us."

Her fingers laced with his as she smiled out at the gathered crowd. Guards, council, and friends.

"It isn't our intention to lead anyone into a dangerous battle," Draco went on, hesitating, "but unfortunately that is what looms in our future. We won't hold it against anyone who decides to leave now."

No one moved. Forcing his lips into a grimace to contain the emotion that had threatened to overtake him ever since the Portkeys had arrived, he nodded.

Hermione spoke, recognising his need for a moment. "As you become members of the Nocturnus Order, we vow to protect each of you to the best of our ability. It's an exchange of loyalty for loyalty; we're honoured to have each of you here with us tonight." Her voice wavered a little towards the end, but her head remained high, her coronet glistening with the silver of the moon above.

Draco managed a smile before turning back to face the group. "Our chief adviser Hugo Bergen will be performing the oath-taking ceremony tonight, and I've asked him to trim out the old pretentious wording so it doesn't take all night." A quiet chuckle went up, and he offered a smirk. "And welcome, each of you… to the new Nocturnus Order."

The darkness of Hermione's eyes shone with excitement when they met his.

* * *

The excitement of the evening finally caught up with Draco hours after the ceremony wrapped up and fatigue began to settle in.

He still couldn't quite believe their friends had conspired behind their backs to invite others into the fray. And while he might have been nervous about the thought of allowing another potential traitor into the ranks, he knew that each person who was in attendance was someone either he or Granger knew and trusted.

Besides the fact that he knew how strict Dagomir would have been with vetting anyone new.

Podski had been thrilled with the additional company and had spent half the evening preparing more food, much to everyone's pleasure, and the drinks Hugo had brought in from the local village had poured steadily all night.

But Draco's social quota was all used up, and at half past two he crept from the gathering, feeling the moon call to some faint and unused part of him. He'd transfigured a rope into a ladder a few days prior, and though it took a couple tries, he'd managed a sticking charm to secure it to the back of one wing of the villa.

It wasn't fancy, but it worked. The sentiment summed up just about every aspect of their modified version of the Nocturnus Order but for one detail he hadn't expected: there was something joyful about working towards a cause.

When he had Ascended, everything had been coordinated and arranged for him; the bonding ceremony had been prepared by mages and handmaidens and advisers.

But now… everything they were working towards was of their own volition. The small council that remained and the guards who diligently patrolled the grounds near the Nocturnus Castle day in and day out.

Everyone now had their purpose, and each of them believed in the idea of Nocturnus growing stronger once again. Of taking back what was theirs.

And Draco liked to think with a fresh beginning could come a fresh Nocturnus. The thought itself was embodied by the idea of all the people who had taken oaths to support the Nocturnus Order that very night, regardless of blood or status.

Maybe this was how the Order ought to have been all along. A small, quiet part of him suggested that maybe this was how Nocturnus was born in the first place.

The Order had been formal and efficient but cold. And now… he could feel the wild churning of life and purpose below the surface, and he harboured a secret hope that it just might be enough to carry them through all of this.

Quietly, he ascended the rope ladder to the roof of the villa, settling along the angled roof so that he could gaze down upon the revelry still rampant below.

The last he had seen of Hermione, she was gathered with a group of friends and former classmates, and he hadn't wanted to intrude. But with the power of the moon, he could vaguely feel the pulsing of the bond between them, and that too felt like the return of an old friend.

He grazed his crescent marking with his thumb, feeling the echo of her magic in kind, and a smile dragged across his lips. As he leaned back, letting his eyes flutter shut with exhaustion, he could feel the gentle prod of the moon.

Hermione was insistent he could learn control of the affiliation again, and he appreciated her optimism. But the magic had been wrenched from within him, and it was different from her being able to draw the affiliation from their bond.

Even so, he couldn't help the shred of hope that had grown forth at the idea, like one of his mother's flowers that she'd nurtured from the sun-baked Spanish earth.

Idly, he lifted his palm towards the moon, allowing himself to focus on the magic he could feel mingling with his own core magic that he still worked at every day. He breathed in the intention of it, searching every dark corner of himself for the richness of that lunar magic that had once flowed abundantly through his veins.

The steady rhythm of his heart kept him grounded and tempered his expectations when nothing happened, and no surge of magic coursed through him.

He knew better, but it couldn't hurt to try.

Opening his eyes again, he sat up, stretching his long legs before him as he fixed his stare on his palm. Hermione had drawn the affiliation forth from him once, although he still wasn't certain whether that had been her own magic reaching through the connection between them.

But that night, she'd talked about belief.

And what better to encourage belief than to know so many stood alongside them, willing to offer their loyalty to a cause they hardly knew.

His eyes slid shut again. For a moment, he pictured it.

A not so distant future, wherein the Nocturnus Order had reclaimed that which was theirs. He lived with Hermione in the castle, they were surrounded with council and friends—one and the same.

A breath caught in his throat, tears breaking from his eyes as a visceral, intense longing swept through him at the thought of a proper future with Hermione. A future heir to the throne of the Lunae Ortus. Heirs or heiresses.

Draco desired to have children one day, but he'd scarcely allowed himself to dream of it. But now he could see them—children running around, all blond hair and wild curls, playing on the endless rolling Tuscan hills. His bride, beautiful as ever, now a mother as well.

It was a time when they wouldn't have to fear and fight for their lives. A time when they could simply exist.

Silent tears leaked down his cheeks as the images of it flashed with such sharp relief in the back of his mind that Draco might have believed them to be true if he didn't know any better. With a deep, shuddering breath, he dropped his face into his palm as true pain wrenched through him at the reminder that none of it was real.

Brightness seared through his eyelids to the backs of his eyes, and he jolted upright with a startled intake of breath.

The lines of his palm glowed a bright silver to match the moon above, the light leeching towards the tips of his fingers. A swelling of magic raced through him, and the intensity of it shocked him to the core.

At his side sat Hermione, knees drawn into her chest and arms coiled tightly around herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You were projecting your thoughts," she whispered. Briefly, she shook her head. "I've never seen it before."

His eyes snapped to her, nerves rippling through him at the thought that she'd seen his deepest desires. But she hadn't touched him at all, and his palm positively shone with the lunar affiliation. He gaped at his hand, fixing all of his remaining energy on drawing the magic forth.

They both watched, Draco with incredulity and Hermione with a soft smile on her lips, as the magic lifted from his hand, hovering as a ball of light in the air between them.

As if consciously choosing to ignore the affiliation, she only breathed, "Those are my dreams, too." Her hand found his other one. "That we might one day have the safety and freedom to have a family of our own. That all of this might be over."

Draco squeezed her hand, grounding himself to her magic as he coiled the affiliation along each of his fingers, his chest heaving with the effort of the magic even as disbelief echoed in the back of his mind.

"I knew you would do it," Hermione added softly.

As if it were that simple, as if it had never been a question.

The images of a future together still clung to the backs of his eyelids, his heart raw at the idea of them. He only nodded, squeezing her hand once more.

"We aren't the villains in this story," he breathed, banishing the doubts and fears that had chased him for months on end. Swallowing, he watched as the light from his palm flared, breaking free and hovering around them as he idly directed it outwards.

At last he blew out a breath and finished with a wry, "Maybe that means we'll get our happy ending after all."

Hermione ducked in, her lips finding his with a whispered, "I believe in us."

And, just maybe, he could too.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm thrilled to announce that Nocturnus is fully written as of this week at 57 chapters total! I can't wait to share the rest of it with all of you.

Thank you to my wonderful alphas Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347, as well as my amazing beta ravenslight. Through to the end, LadyKenz will be stepping away from alpha reading Nocturnus; so many thanks for all the hours she spent helping make this story its best.


	48. Chapter 48

Over the course of the following week, Draco consistently felt as if the affiliation would vanish every time he looked away, falling inaccessible once more. But as if he'd somehow revitalised the spring from which the magic was wrought, he was able to summon it once more.

It didn't harbour the strength it once had—and it wasn't as strong as Hermione's possession of her own branch of the lunar magic—but he'd developed it once before. Feeling the rush of power in his fingertips again was enough to embed a seed of hope in the back of his mind.

One idle afternoon, Draco found himself on the grounds, the heat of the Spanish sun blazing down on him, testing the magic. He'd strengthened it once before through focus and effort and now the floodgates were open.

Desire to possess the full strength of it once more had overtaken him.

Several days prior, Hermione and Hugo had surprised him with a cordoned off training ground, including a target range to practice with, and though it was mostly for show he appreciated the gesture.

Three times, he had destroyed and reassembled the row of targets. Some were closer than others, while others moved around.

The magic didn't run out, but after a while he began to feel sluggish, pressure mounting above his eyes. He sank into one of the benches along the edge of the gardens, eyeing the chaos.

The newly returned thrum of magic in his veins was a constant reminder of their purpose. To grow strong enough and knowledgeable enough to mount another attack. This time to reclaim what was once theirs.

And this time they wouldn't miss anything.

They had learned too many hard lessons in the aftermath of the last battle in Italy; Draco could sense the sentiment lingering behind Dagomir and Ben's almost manic coordination of the patrol teams.

As if his thoughts had brought the man into being, Dagomir approached the bench before sinking down beside Draco.

Draco only blinked at him, unused to seeing Dagomir partake in sunshine. He didn't know whether he'd seen the man outside of the barracks since the oath-taking ceremony a week prior.

At last, Dagomir sighed, leaning back. "Hello, Lunae Ortus."

Lips twitching, Draco nodded. "Hello." When the man wasn't forthright with anything further, he added, "Is something wrong? Do I need to return?"

"No." Dagomir swept a hand through his hair, dragging it down his face. When Draco looked closer, he could see the deep shadows below the strategist's eyes. Almost apologetically, he elaborated. "I only needed a short break."

The confession startled Draco. After long months of knowing Dagomir, he'd never seen him look worn out. In fact, Dagomir was usually the one to push others to carry on.

Concern mingled with guilt in the pit of his stomach. "You don't need to push yourself so hard," Draco admonished quietly. "We never expected any of this to change overnight. You know that better than anyone."

"I know." Dagomir turned his face upwards, squinting in the bright daylight. "I take my duties very seriously."

"I agree," Draco allowed with a nod. "More so than anyone I've ever seen." When Dagomir turned doleful hazel eyes in his direction, Draco cracked a grin. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off."

"I couldn't." The words slipped past Dagomir's lips without even considering the offer.

Stretching his legs in front of him, Draco interlocked his hands across his middle. "It wasn't a suggestion."

Dagomir's brow furrowed with contention, as if he regretted speaking his thoughts aloud. But he knew better than to defy an order, and Draco took the thought to his advantage as his grin widened. At last Dagomir huffed, crumpling on the bench. "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"You and I both know your guards are more than capable of running the patrols themselves," Draco went on quietly. "You can spend some time outside with me. I've been practicing with the affiliation."

"Good," Dagomir grunted, but he relaxed a little, as if willing to accept that he could still be helpful and the day wouldn't be a complete waste. "I have been watching you a little. You have come a long way since Italy."

Scratching at his beard, Dagomir frowned; Draco could see the wheels turning in the back of his mind and waited.

"I can't help but notice, Lunae Ortus," he went on at last, "that the Lunae Amor has taken to utilising the affiliation for most of her magic."

"Yes," Draco said, "she's very proficient with it."

A frisson of pride chased through him, not only at how well she had been doing, but that others had taken notice.

"Most unusual," Dagomir went on, "when all I have heard of the affiliation—prior to taking this active role in the Order upon your Ascension—is that it operates with specific purpose."

Draco considered the thought for a moment. "You mean destruction, spell-breaking, healing."

"Yes." Dagomir nodded sharply. A wry grin crept across his face. "Yet she uses it to light the torches and open the doors."

With a chuckle, Draco glanced away towards the gardens. "Hermione has always pushed the boundaries on anything magical. I remember being astounded—although I suppose at the time I was annoyed—that she was so far advanced in our classes at Hogwarts despite being a Muggle-born."

"She is most worthy indeed," Dagomir acquiesced. "A wonderful selection for your Lunae Amor. And it is obvious the bond you share is rare. Which is why I wonder at the strength of her magic."

"In what way?"

Dagomir squinted into the sky again, as if he couldn't quite find the right words. At last he met Draco's stare again. "The strength of the affiliation is determined by the strength of the bond. Not only was she able to draw her own affiliation from your bond—something no other Lunae Amor has ever done outright—but she has been able to manipulate it beyond anything in recorded history. It leads me to believe you will be able to achieve the same."

Something behind his words left Draco feeling unsettled, and he shifted, toeing the earth beneath them. "What do you think this says about the bond?"

"I don't know." Dagomir shook his head, sinking back once more. "Perhaps she was meant to be the one you chose."

A deeper sentiment hovered in the back of Draco's mind, and he couldn't help but dissect Dagomir's meaning, even as he released a snicker. "Crazy to think, if you had seen the two of us growing up."

With an indulgent smile, Dagomir murmured, "Children."

Although their past went far beyond such a trivial sentiment, Draco couldn't quite shake the thought as he offered a belated grin. He thought back to the point in time when Hermione had come for the open call for his partner; he had been so dismissive initially—a knee-jerk reaction—but after their first decent conversation he'd felt the thought of her niggling at the back of his mind.

And even when he had been trying to select from the dozens of women who had attended the call, he'd carried little doubt that Hermione was the one he needed to choose. Despite the fact that they hadn't yet realised how well they got along.

He could remember the tug in the back of his mind, pushing him to select her.

"Do you think magic was at play?" Draco spoke aloud. It felt odd to discuss these things with Dagomir, and to share such vulnerabilities, when he didn't know the man well in a personal capacity. If anything, it was something he might discuss with Hugo. "When I selected the Lunae Amor. I felt… I don't know, that she was the one I needed to choose. Even though there were so many others."

"I recall," Dagomir nodded. "You scarcely looked at the others after you'd met with her."

Draco didn't realise he'd been so obvious.

"The ancient magic of the Nocturnus Order goes deeper than we even realise," Dagomir said with an idle shrug. "Perhaps this is one of those things. Your magic selected her magic for the bond it would bring, and maybe it was as simple as that. Magic in its basest form doesn't care about anything else. It recognised something in her that you hadn't yet—you're lucky to have found something so pure."

The words crept into his chest with the sudden escalation of his heart. He wanted to press and to ask more questions, but they both knew how ambiguous and convoluted the information about the Order tended to be. Maybe he would never have a definite answer about what had drawn him to Hermione so immediately and why the bond that now existed between them ran so deep.

After a long moment, Dagomir broke the silence again as he straightened in his seat. "Just some thoughts, Lunae Ortus. Shall I help you practice?"

He summoned a stack of thin clay discs that Draco found vaguely familiar, and without warning Dagomir directed one high into the air with his wand.

Following the spinning trajectory, Draco fired a jolt of magic from his palm; the brightness of the affiliation chased the disc, shattering it in midair. With a grin, Dagomir muttered, "Very good," before launching the next.

* * *

Hermione hadn't seen Draco since breakfast, and after a while she decided to venture onto the grounds. She wasn't used to feeling idle, and even the time she had spent living in Malfoy Manor felt more active than certain days at the villa.

After the oath-taking ceremony, Hugo had created custom Portkeys for the friends that had joined them, and every so often someone stopped in to say hello. But the rest of them lived in England, and largely it was the original Nocturnus Order members who lingered around the villa.

Still, it was nice to visit with friends. She had spent some time with Neville and Luna the day before which had been a balm to her fatigued soul.

Hermione drifted into the barracks complex, and to her surprise Dagomir wasn't commanding the situation as usual; he appeared to have left Vlad in charge, who looked a little harried but in control as he scrawled some new information on the wall.

"Hello," Hermione breezed as several guards looked up from their training sessions when she entered. "As you were, please. Is everything going well here?" she asked, peering over the table.

Vlad nodded, a little distracted, before flashing her a grin. "Everything is as expected, Lunae Amor. Dagomir stepped out two hours ago and hasn't returned, which is unlike him, but we have all been telling him to take some time off."

She hesitated at the words but smiled as the pieces fell together. "The Lunae Ortus is away as well. Maybe they're together."

With a nod, Vlad sunk at the information. "The next patrols are due back any minute. Ben arranged to meet with Cynthia today, so we will see if anything comes of that. Otherwise, very little new to report."

Hermione gazed at the map for another moment before stepping away. "Wonderful. I'll wait and see what he has to say."

She ventured deeper into the room, observing the guards as they practiced their training routines. Often she admired the intensity and dedication they had, and it always left her feeling humbled that they were so willing to fight for the Order.

For several minutes she visited with the guards, enjoying the simple feeling of connection, but they all looked up when the last patrol rotation returned to the grounds.

Hermione spotted Ben and moved back towards the strategy area where they'd been keeping all the information they learned. Ben looked a little out of sorts as he quietly conferred with Vlad.

"We need to find Dagomir. He hasn't responded on his coin," he announced, and Hermione nodded, adrenaline jumping through her veins. If her suspicion was correct and he and Draco were together, there would be no need to search the sprawling grounds.

She pressed the tips of her fingers to her own crescent marking, feeling the flare of magic; moments later she felt Draco's signature echo back at her. She flashed a smile. "They'll be here shortly."

Several minutes later, Draco and Dagomir rushed through the door of the barracks together, and Ben cracked a grin. "Impressive, Miss Amor."

Dagomir strode forward, his expression all business as he approached Ben. Draco came up along Hermione's side, taking his hand into hers; an unusual intensity shone in his stare when she met his gaze, but she didn't have time to unpack that at the moment.

"Cynthia has news," Ben announced once they were all assembled. Hugo had drifted into the room as well, as if someone had informed him of the meeting via his coin, and Hermione caught his eye as his expression remained stoic at the mention of his sister. "About Elias Bergen."

Hermione's stomach rolled at the mere mention of the man who had betrayed them, her magic spiking in her palm.

Ben grimaced as he scrawled something on the map before glancing back up. "And about Glenneth."

Pacing forward, Draco peered closer at the map, and Hermione felt herself still in anticipation when he growled, "What about them?"

"Start with Glenneth." Hugo stepped forward, his jaw clenched and expression dark, before he added a muted, "Please."

Despite the distance between them, Hermione could feel the chill radiating from Hugo's countenance; rarely had she seen the man look so stern. She felt a spasm of guilt sweep through her that she hadn't checked in with him more often. Not only did he have to face his father's betrayal on a daily basis, but now he was left wondering about his sister's fate inside Avance as well.

Ben sank into a chair as if he needed it to stabilise himself; the rest followed suit, dragging a stack of chairs away from one wall and dispersing them around. Hermione couldn't help the fear that chased through her.

At last, Ben released a great sigh and spoke. "Avance are keeping Glenneth isolated where no one else can reach him, and he's under heavy guard day and night."

"They know he is the key to keeping us at bay," Dagomir growled; sucking in a breath, Hermione nodded.

"According to Cyn," Ben went on with a grimace, "they've fashioned him an amulet. Whether it's stifling his magic or directing his obedience, she isn't certain, but I think we can safely guess at both."

"Because we broke through their Imperius last time," Draco muttered at Hermione's side, his palm clenched into a fist; she could see vague streaks of light breaking free.

Glaring at the table, Dagomir rose to his feet and began to pace. "That's exactly why."

"What did she tell you about the amulet?" Hermione asked, hoping to refocus the discussion at hand. "Neither Cosette or Elias are stupid, so I can only imagine there's something more to the situation."

"It was crafted using the affiliation," Ben said, the words hanging in the haunting silence that followed.

Hermione collapsed deeper into her seat, spinning the idea over in her mind. "It'll likely be impervious to spell damage then." Casting a glance around she added, "That's what I would have done, anyways."

Draco cursed under his breath. "So we need to not only figure out how to destroy the amulet but also how to get to Glenneth in the first place. I think we can all agree that it's imperative that Cynthia is _not_ revealed to her father and Cosette as our informant. There is only so much we can ask of her."

"And if we ask her to get close to Glenneth..." Hermione added, letting the sentiment fall into place between the group.

"Right," Dagomir bit out, wearing an aggressive path into the floor.

Hugo stepped towards the table, his arms folded tightly across his front as he met Ben's stare; idly Hermione wondered whether they trusted one another more than anyone else in matters dealing with Cynthia since they were the two who had the most emotional investment in the girl.

"Did Cyn say where they were keeping Glenneth?"

Ben rose from his seat, circling the map before waving a hand. "She doesn't know specifically without trying to access the wing, which will raise suspicions. But she's seen the guards changing watch and she said he's somewhere in the east wing."

Catching Draco's hand with a squeeze, Hermione thinned her lips. No matter what they learned about Avance, it was all irrelevant while they controlled Glenneth, who had the magical ability to stifle them all.

Dagomir stopped by the far wall, dropping his face into a large palm. "No one's saying it," he bit out gruffly, "but there is another option in dealing with Glenneth."

"No," Draco growled, his hand squeezing Hermione's like a vise. "No one's mentioned it because it _isn't_ an option. Glenneth never asked for any of this; I could see it in his eyes that he regretted how they'd manipulated him during the battle."

As she followed the line of thought, Hermione swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, nausea churning in her stomach. "You're suggesting we remove Glenneth from the equation."

Dagomir only frowned, his eyes mournful. "Glenneth is a friend. I do not want to consider this either, but if Avance is left without our mage, the playing field is equal."

"Other than the thousands of Nocturnus they're holding hostage," Draco snipped, a sharp edge to his tone that shot a shiver down Hermione's spine. He rose to his feet, pacing towards the map, his shoulders back and head high. "We are doing whatever we have to do in order to extract Glenneth and get him _safely_ back with Nocturnus."

As if with relief, Dagomir deflated as Draco dismissed the other, less-than-savoury option.

But Draco turned towards Ben and Hugo, who wore remarkably similar expressions. "But we're going to need Cynthia's help—and if anything goes wrong, I promise we'll do everything we can to get her out too, even if it means compromising her intelligence."

"If we get Glenneth back," Dagomir growled, "we'll have traded one advantage for another. And recovered a loyal Nocturnus member."

"Then it's settled," Draco stated, his words ringing through the room. Many of the guards who had been training had come to listen in on the discussion. "Our priority is to recover our mage."

Like an old friend, Hermione felt pride in her husband bubble to the surface; his leadership qualities shined more than he cared to acknowledge.

"We haven't acknowledged something," she said quietly, leaning forward in her seat; more than a dozen sets of eyes swivelled towards her. "If the amulet was made with the affiliation… it'll need to be unmade."

"With the affiliation," Draco finished, easily picking up the thought.

Silence fell once more, this time coloured with an anticipatory hesitation. Still staring at the map, Dagomir announced, "Avance is not aware that we possess the affiliation, is this correct?"

"Correct," Ben affirmed. "Cosette genuinely believes the Lunae Ortus was killed in Italy when Glenneth seized the affiliation. What she fears now is the continued existence of the Lunae Amor, and those members of the council and guard who escaped from the battle. But she has no knowledge that Nocturnus is actively rebuilding."

"If Cynthia has no way of getting to Glenneth without giving herself up," Hugo reasoned, gesturing with one hand, "we'll need to get to Glenneth ourselves."

"Which means one of us needs to go into the castle," Hermione breathed. "To dismantle the amulet."

It was the only answer she could see, and although no one immediately spoke, she could see the answer in each of their faces. If they wanted to recover Glenneth, they would need to delve deep into their enemy's stronghold.

And this time, the enemy was many times stronger and ready for them.

"We aren't ready to mount a full scale attack," Dagomir said, cursing under his breath.

"Looking at the numbers," Hugo said, his tone delicate, "we may never be ready. We will need to figure out something else."

Draco dragged a hand down his face, glaring at the map, but before he could speak, Hermione rose to her feet.

"I'll do it," she said softly, ignoring the feel of Draco's hard stare on her face. She flexed her palm, abundant magic sparkling from her fingertips. "But we'll need to know as much as possible before we go in."

"You aren't," Draco snarled under his breath, but the words didn't carry weight. They both knew his grasp on the magic still wasn't as strong as hers.

Drawing a deep breath to quell a sudden spike of fear, she nodded towards Ben once more. "What can you tell us about Elias?"

Hugo's white knuckles tightened around the edge of the table, his jaw set in a hard line. If she wasn't mistaken, he had been far less jovial than usual. Again, Hermione felt a swell of shame that she hadn't paid due care to how much he had been struggling.

"According to Cyn," Ben said, sinking into his seat once more, "Cosette isn't the worst of the problem we're facing right now—Elias is. He's abusing the power of the affiliation, to the point where no one wants to deal with him."

Draco caught Hermione's eye with a dark look, chewing his tongue.

Quietly, he mused, "I can't honestly say I'm surprised. The power of the affiliation is… unlike anything else. It must be tempered and balanced—the Lunae bonds went a long way to control the affiliation between us. And if Elias was willing to betray his Order to obtain it…" With an apologetic frown towards Hugo, he trailed off.

"He's drunk on the power," Hugo scoffed.

"That isn't all," Ben said, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. "We aren't certain because the response manifests in different ways when someone breaks their Nocturnus vows, but we might be seeing the cracks in Elias Bergen's facade at last."

Hermione's heart leapt into her chest at the words, and she briefly met Draco's stare again. "In what way?"

Ben's expression broadened into a grin, and Hermione felt a hint of apprehension chase across her skin. In a low voice he bit out, "The lunar magic he's stolen isn't loyal. It's begun to backfire."

As Draco's hand found hers again, she felt the pulse of his magic against her own, and her soft intake of breath was the only sound that broke the sudden, all-encompassing shock in the room. She squeezed his hand in return. They might have finally caught a break.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you as always for reading! I appreciate the support so freaking much. I hope each one of you are keeping safe and well.

Alpha hugs to Kyonomiko, and beta hearts to ravenslight.


	49. Chapter 49

Draco frowned at the bedspread for a long moment, weighing his thoughts as he idly allowed his magic to float along the bend of his arm. At last he sighed and turned towards Hermione, who stood in the doorway of the adjoining loo in the master suite.

"I don't like it," he admitted, meeting her stare when she turned her head around.

"I know you don't," she assured, snagging her bottom lip between her teeth. "Unfortunately, we don't have much of a choice in the matter."

Draco huffed a breath, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Surely there's another option than storming a heavily armed castle."

"If there is," she said, venturing into the room and sitting on the bed beside him, "we haven't come up with it yet. If we can't get Glenneth out, we'll have to go to him. If we can get him back on our side, it could really change the tides in this war." Her voice dropped, eyes doleful as they sought out his. "Everyone knows we can't stay holed up in this villa forever."

"I know," he groused, falling silent.

"Eventually we'll run out of new things to learn; meanwhile, we run the risk of slipping up and clueing Avance in on our presence and growing strength."

Shaking his head, he looked up. "Let me do it. Avance doesn't even know you have the affiliation, and if you're found out—"

"They believe you to be dead!" Hermione cut him off, a knit forming between her brows. "You're our best secret right now—not me."

"I can't stomach the thought of something happening to you while I sit back and wait at home."

Shifting to sit alongside him, she dragged a hand along his jaw; his eyes slipped closed at the feel of her touch, of her magic mingling with his own. "I know," she whispered, "but if something goes wrong at least we'll know they didn't get both of us."

His eyes snapped open, emotion churning deep within him. "You say that as if losing you would be an acceptable cost of war."

Hermione sighed, tracing her fingertips absently along his marked wrist; he could feel the stimulation racing through him, and he caught her fingers to still the motion, a smirk tugging at his lips. As if she hadn't realised the implications of her touch during a solemn moment, she glanced away, a flush creeping into her cheeks.

"That isn't what I meant," she breathed, "but I'm only trying to think like Avance. If they _were_ to catch me, at least they already believe there to be a chance I survived the battle. Cosette thinks Glenneth killed you."

No matter how she phrased the situation, Draco was never going to like it.

"I have an alternate suggestion," Draco murmured, taking her hand into his and pressing his shimmering palm to hers; their magic intermingled in a way that wasn't entirely familiar, and it stirred something within him, distracting his thoughts.

Drawn away from the conversation as well, Hermione released a soft gasp, pressing her palm flat against his. He could feel her affiliation reaching for his own,in a way that it hadn't been able to do before. Between her strengthened grasp on the magic and his own steadily recovering, he felt the surge of it colliding within his magical core.

Meeting his stare for a moment, Hermione offered a wry, "That's interesting." Twining her fingers with his, she added, "What's your suggestion?"

Draco hummed for a moment, testing the feeling of the magic coursing between them while he pondered the thought. "If you infiltrate the castle and you're found out—that's it. You'll be surrounded and at a disadvantage, even with the affiliation in your control. Remember, both Cosette and Elias have it as well."

Her lips thinned with a swallow as she waited for him to continue; Draco trailed his fingertips along hers, teasing her magic. "We need a decoy."

"No," Hermione hissed, drawing her hand back. He couldn't quite blame her, given the feeling of it was incredibly distracting. "You heard Dagomir; we don't have the numbers to launch an offensive attack."

"It won't be a full scale attack," Draco went on, shaking his head. "I haven't figured out the details of it yet, but what we need is to keep Avance's eyes focused externally while you and a select team move internally in the castle to find Glenneth and destroy the amulet binding him to Avance."

Although he could see she didn't like the idea of putting anyone else at risk, he knew better than to think she would dismiss the idea. Huffing a breath through her nose, she peered up at him.

"Bring the idea to Dagomir," she hedged, brow heavy with resignation. "Let's see if we can come up with something. We won't be making a move right away since Cynthia is going to see what else she can find. So there's time."

"Time," Draco breathed, the word insidious as it hung in the back of his mind. "Right."

Ever since they'd arrived in Spain, it had felt as if they had both no time and all the time in the world. The discrepancy was unsettling to say the least while their enemy sat comfortable, having seized their castle.

They both glanced up at a sharp rap on the bedroom door.

"Who is it?" Draco called.

Through the wood, a muffled voice replied, "Hugo and Madeline."

A cautious smile flitted across Hermione's face as she returned, "Come in."

The door swung open, and Hugo's face peered around the corner, complete with an apologetic smile; moments later Madeline's cheery face joined him. Hugo brandished a deck of cards.

"Would you care to join us for a game?" he asked.

Draco met Hermione's stare for a moment, a slow grin spreading his face as well. They had taken to playing cards in the evenings to fill the time and manage their emotional wellbeing. He chuckled with a soft, "Prepared to have your arse beat?"

Hugo only rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "You wish."

* * *

"A decoy?" Dagomir asked, his face marred with a deep frown. "To what end, exactly?"

Draco dropped his head back to peer at the ceiling. "A distraction. We need to keep Avance's eyes away from Hermione and the guards; away from Glenneth. The last thing we need is to send a team in and have them killed or captured; Merlin knows Avance would love a chance at any information about us."

Folding his arms, Ben only offered a grimace. "Anything we do to draw Avance's attention will reveal _some_ aspect of our plans. The fact that we've been watching their patrols or that we're making an attempt on something—or even the simple matter of our numbers."

"It will reveal we are seeking to retaliate," Dagomir affirmed.

Sinking into one of the seats in the central war chamber they'd fashioned in the barracks, Draco swept a hand through his hair. He wasn't the war strategist—and for good reason. "What can we do, then? To give Hermione the best chance to reach Glenneth unscathed and undetected?"

He had deliberately waited until Hermione was busy elsewhere—more specifically, when she had chosen to spend the morning tending to the gardens with his mother—before broaching Dagomir with the idea. Swivelling his gaze towards Ben, Draco saw recognition and understanding there.

Ben knew the situation with Cynthia still inside Avance. And it would be Cynthia who would have to assist Hermione in locating Glenneth.

He sighed, glancing towards Dagomir. "It's a good point. If we can't reach Glenneth, it's a real problem. And obviously, no one wants to put any more lives at risk—least of all the Lunae Amor."

"No more lives, period," Draco returned softly.

Although his biggest priority was to keep Hermione safe, he couldn't stand the thought of seeing any more guards lost, especially after the months they'd all spent together in Spain. None of their lives were expendable in his belief. Even while he recognised the thought to be a bit of a pipe dream, given they were still at war.

Dagomir released a sigh, dropping into a third chair with a bit of a slump to his shoulders.

"Another matter is this, Lunae Ortus: there will never come a time when we can reasonably face Avance with an army even a quarter of the size they now possess. As we've seen, with Madeline and now with Cynthia, the forced loyalty of the former Nocturnus to Avance isn't infallible."

While Dagomir heaved a harsh exhale but didn't go on, Draco found himself holding a tight breath of his own. "What are you saying?"

"There is a chance the other Nocturnus can be persuaded to defect," Ben said cautiously, his eyes sliding to meet Draco's. "But it's a risky game because we don't know for certain. And with anything we reveal, as Dagomir said, we run the chance that Avance can use it against us."

Draco jolted in his seat, looking up. "Has Cyn struggled with Cosette's voice in the same way Madeline has?"

Ben shook his head twice. "Whether because Cynthia has already learned to block it out—as Madeline has as well now—or because her loyalty to her father was already assumed."

It felt as if every path they deigned to venture down presented trouble of some sort, but they'd never anticipated this to be easy. The very fact that they were even still in the game—great stack of disadvantages though they had—spoke volumes.

"Let's give it some thought," Draco said, tugging at his hair in frustration. "If only we knew more about the loyalty shift. Most of the old journals are still back in England, and the Manor has been attacked."

"And is most assuredly being watched," Dagomir added.

With a grimace, Draco sunk deeper into his seat. "What are we to do? I can't send anyone into that castle knowing that a possible discovery will mean their deaths."

A flicker of understanding cross Dagomir's face. "We will come up with something, Lunae. I promise I'll do everything in my power to ensure the Lunae Amor has safe passage to reach Glenneth."

Despite that they were no closer to solving the problem, Draco felt relief wash over him. He knew he could trust Dagomir with his life and with Hermione's life—the man had proved his worth tenfold—and he sank in relief with the acknowledgement of his concerns.

He rose to his feet with a nod, clapping a hand to Dagomir's shoulder; Ben and Dagomir both followed suit, alert once more. "Thanks for your help."

His mind still awash with thoughts, Draco made his way to the gardens to see his two favourite women.

* * *

"I know that look," Hermione said as she took a seat at the kitchen table across from Draco. He cradled a cup of tea between his hands, his expression pensive. "I'm already nervous; what is it?"

Doleful grey eyes found hers.

When he didn't speak, Hermione gave a chuckle to combat her nerves. "Why do I get the feeling you're planning something that I'm not going to like—but it's going to make sense."

Through the archway into the sitting room, she caught Hugo's eye and gestured towards the table. Moments later, the man slipped into the seat at the end between them, helping himself to an overly sugary cup of tea.

At last, Draco released a sigh. "We need the Nocturnus journals."

Ducking her chin, Hermione stared at him for a long moment, unimpressed. "It's too bad the Nocturnus journals are in England and we can't safely access them."

"I'll go," Hugo offered, taking a sip of his tea and grimacing. He added another cube of sugar.

"They're warded," Draco responded, lifting his chin. "Before we left for Italy, I stowed them away as safely as I could manage. I've already asked Podski if he can access them."

"Let me guess," Hermione said wryly, taking a sip of her own tea to detract from the slight quake in her hands. "He can't."

At the time, it had made sense to leave the journals protected, given they didn't know how long they'd be in Italy. But she didn't think any of them had imagined they'd end up spending the next months in Spain instead.

"He's warded out by the magic. Problem is," Draco mused as he traced a crack in the wooden table with his fingernail, "Dagomir thinks Avance is watching the Manor."

"Of course they are," Hugo drawled, "they destroyed the place. They'll be waiting for someone from Nocturnus to return." He released a sigh and shook his head. "Knowing my father, and what we can only assume about Cosette, they won't be content forever _hoping_ we aren't going to fight back. No matter what drivel Cosette's been telling our Nocturnus fighters, she knows they didn't catch all of us that night. They'll want to make sure they clean up the loose ends."

"Loose ends being any council or guards who survived the battle," Hermione muttered, despair settling like a stone low in her stomach.

Hugo nodded. "I think we can rest assured anyone who seeks to return to the Manor is someone loyal to Nocturnus."

Hermione met Draco's eyes, his expression innocuous. She knew him well enough at this point to realise he wasn't going to back off by the threat of potential danger; idly she wondered at how much her Gryffindor side had come to rub off on him. But she felt remarkably Slytherin herself on occasion.

"So how are we going to get in to get the journals?" she asked the table, the question sitting alongside them like an uninvited guest. "And what are you even hoping to find that would be worth the risk?"

When he only sighed, drumming his fingertips on the table, Hermione bristled; he so rarely fidgeted, and it spoke to the depth of his nerves.

"Dagomir thinks the forced allegiance of Nocturnus to Avance could be shattered," he admitted at last. "Like we've seen with Madeline and Cynthia."

"Madeline and Cynthia multiplied by a thousand," Hugo muttered, his brows lifting high on his forehead. "But how?"

Hermione hummed, glancing between them. "If it _can_ be broken, we need to ensure their lives aren't at risk. Something tells me neither Elias nor Cosette will hesitate to strike down any rogue Nocturnus." She met Hugo's gaze, apologetic.

"We'll need glamours," Hugo said, waving an idle hand, "and I can't help but think they'll have something in place to track your magical signatures. _If_ we do this… it'll need to be quick."

Rolling out a kink in his neck, as if he'd been seated for a long time, Draco frowned. "We can't make our magical signatures vanish. Unless Hermione has some affiliation trick up her sleeve whereby we can essentially become invisible."

She snickered, despite the gravity of the situation. "I suppose if Cosette can use it to make Glenneth an amulet, then maybe we can fashion a sort of—" She dropped the thought, a different idea striking her at once. "We don't need the affiliation. We need Harry."

Scrambling for her coin, Hermione ignored both Draco and Hugo's confusion as she tapped its surface.

Her message shone briefly before vanishing.

_HQ when you can. Bring cloak._

Draco peered over her shoulder as the message faded away into its golden face, and recognition dawned, a cheeky smirk spreading across his face. "You and I both know Potter wouldn't—"

Her coin warmed with a response, and Hermione flashed him a smile in return.

_Be there in five_.

Quietly, she mused, "He just might."

Hugo, who still looked bewildered by the entire exchange, only poured himself another cup of tea with too many sugar cubes. "It sounds like you've got a plan, so I'll leave it to you for this one." He took a sip from his heavily steaming cup, and Hermione grimaced.

Several minutes later, Harry arrived via his Portkey, peering into the kitchen before joining them at the table. Reaching into his shoulder bag, he brandished a familiar piece of folded cloth, its surface rich and shimmering.

Hugo's eyes nearly bulged from his face. "What is that?"

"I had to sneak out of work, but Kings understands," Harry said by way of greeting at last. "Robards knows I've been working on something with Kingsley, so he doesn't ask too many questions."

"This," Hermione said, weighing the heavy fabric in her hands, "is an invisibility cloak."

Draco eyed the fabric with a strange mixture of disdain and curiosity, and Hermione tried to remember whether Harry had ever used it to get one up on him. At last, he turned cautious eyes on Harry. "May we borrow it?"

"If you return it. And by the way, you won't all fit under it. Two adults maximum unless you want to run the risk of detection," Harry said, before adding in an aside to Hugo, "if you believe the legends, it's _the_ invisibility cloak."

The blood drained from Hugo's face, and he merely gaped at the cloak, his tea forgotten as he gingerly prodded the fabric of it. Hermione supposed that was enough of an answer.

"Next you're going to tell me you all know where the Elder Wand is," Hugo breathed, forcing a swallow as he continued to gaze upon the cloak with awe.

Hermione, Draco, and Harry exchanged a glance; Hugo's jaw dropped open.

"You wouldn't believe the story if we told you," Draco said at last then turned back to Harry. "It's a dangerous task, Potter, so if I die, I can't guarantee you'll get it back."

Firing him a scowl, Hermione attempted to put the thought to the back of her mind.

Harry only gave him a mild one-shouldered shrug, cracking a crooked grin. "I'm good at dangerous tasks."

"Actually," Draco mused, freezing as he stared at Harry, "that isn't a bad idea. How much do you know about the current state of Malfoy Manor?"

As understanding dawned, Hermione could see Harry's expression shift. "More than anyone else in this room. And by the way, are you insane?"

"Is it that bad?" Hermione asked, catching the cogs churning in Draco's mind.

"It isn't as bad as it was," Harry admitted, "given the elves have been working to restore the damage. But—Malfoy, there are ward signatures on the grounds we can't get through, and quite frankly we haven't wanted to try. We couldn't track them back to either Malfoy or Black lineage."

"Cosette. Or Bergen." Draco's jaw clenched hard, his gaze dropping to the cloak on the table between them. "I need to retrieve something that may end up game-changing to the cause." When he glanced up, his lips twitched with a smirk. "Or it may end up proving useless and dangerous for no reason."

"He wouldn't be crazy enough to have set Bergen wards," Hugo reasoned, "knowing I'd be able to break them."

Hermione clicked her tongue, attempting to process the situation. "Cosette, then. We don't even know her family name—not that it matters because we likely wouldn't be able to dismantle them anyways."

Draco tilted his head towards her, cocking his brows. "Not even with spell-breaking magic?"

"Possibly," she hummed, rubbing at her temples. "But I don't think we should rely on it. If you're going, you'll need to get in and out as quickly as possible."

"Fine." The word was clipped, but beneath the casual veneer she could see the tension in Draco's shoulders and in the lines of his face. "I'll arrange to go at some point." He gestured towards the cloak once more. "Potter said two. Would anyone care to come along?"

Hermione had just opened her mouth to speak up when Hugo snapped, "I'll go." She wasn't surprised, given the man's proclivity to put himself on the line for his Lunaes—ever since he'd begun to take his role seriously, anyways—but she debated the idea of overriding him anyways.

But as she closed her mouth, she recognised the truth of the matter, and it was the same one they had discussed days prior. They couldn't stand to go on potentially dangerous missions together in case things went poorly.

As if understanding her train of thought, Draco reached for her hand, entwining their fingers.

At last Harry sighed, looking among the group. "I should go. I know the state of things in England the best, and there are areas of the Manor you won't be able to access." A roguish grin slipped across his face. "Besides, I'm Nocturnus now, aren't I? And Hermione will never forgive me if I don't bring this arse home safely so there's added incentive."

Briefly, Hugo looked as if he wanted to argue the matter, but he merely pressed his palms together.

"Technically," Draco mused, "if you're Nocturnus you shouldn't be calling me '_this arse'_."

Hermione snickered despite herself; she didn't want _anyone_ to go, but Harry had a point. If they would have trouble getting through the Manor—despite that Draco should be able to Apparate directly inside once they were back in England—it was best they knew about it.

Not that she wanted Harry to put himself at risk any more than she wanted to see Draco leave.

But he only relaxed back in his seat. "Fine. Whichever of you wants to come may do so."

"Potter's right," Hugo said, a mildly begrudging acquiescence. "He may be of more use to you in this situation than I will."

Hermione could see it cost him a lot to speak the words, but she offered him a soft smile anyways before turning back towards Harry and Draco. "I know I don't need to voice the disastrous results that could come out of this if something goes wrong. If you're detected, or if they learn that Draco isn't dead after all."

"You do not," Draco murmured, giving her hand a squeeze, "but we appreciate it all the same."

And Harry was an Auror. He was used to these sorts of situations even though they had underestimated Cosette before—and now she had a mastermind strategist at her side in the likes of Bergen.

"Please be safe," she only whispered, clinging to his hand. "And for Merlin's sake, let's hope there's something of value in those journals."

"Journals, eh," Harry muttered, sweeping a hand through his messy hair. "Alright, Malfoy. When are we planning this ill-contrived raid on your own home?"

"When they'll be least expecting it," Draco hummed, slipping a hand beneath the fabric of the cloak and blinking at it when it vanished. "With any luck, they don't realise the value of what we're going for, and it'll only be that they're monitoring the place for activity."

Hermione swept her gaze across the small group. Her lips twitched. "You'd best go while Cosette is getting her beauty sleep."

"Good point," Draco huffed.

Silence fell over the group of them with careful thought, before Hugo rose and collected a sheet of parchment and a quill from the desk, jotting notes. With a sidelong glance, Hermione could see he was making a list of details they'd need to consider, such as timing, glamours, wards, and several other lines she couldn't read as his writing grew messier.

Idly, Draco continued to toy with the cloak, his entire arm vanishing beneath it before he looked up with a wide grin. "Where did you even get this, Potter?"

"From my father," Harry returned with a shrug. "So it goes, the Potter line is long descended from Ignotus Peverell, the third brother."

Draco released a low whistle. Hugo looked up from his work, his eyes wide once more as he stared at the cloak then slipped his own hand beneath the edge to watch it vanish.

Hermione clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she fought a smile. Even in the midst of war, boys would be boys, and it was wonderful to see the ones most important to her bonding. She tapped a finger on Hugo's page and said, "You haven't factored in Dagomir."

They all groaned.

"Dagomir will need to approve of this, won't he?" Draco asked with a resigned sigh. "Hopefully he sees the value in it, given he was the one who mentioned the possibility in the first place."

Hugo flashed a grin. "Let's hope he isn't in a mood to fight."

Hermione released a titter, clapping a hand over her mouth as a wry grin spread across Draco's face. "We're talking about Dagomir here."

"What about Dagomir?" asked a gruff voice as Dagomir himself paced into the kitchen, lifting a brow when he saw the group of them sitting there. He blinked owlishly, as if he hadn't anticipated hearing his name, and withdrew a large bottle of pumpkin juice from the icebox.

Taking a long swig, he peered over Hugo's shoulder to read his list and offered the table at large a grimace before pulling up a chair. "It sounds like we need a plan."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts about how this is going to play out! Hope you're all keeping well.

Alpha hearts to Kyonomiko; beta squishes to ravenslight.


	50. Chapter 50

Draco couldn't remember the last time he had been so disgruntled with his lot in life, and that was saying quite a bit given everything he'd been through over the past handful of months.

Although he appreciated Dagomir more than he could express most days, and he certainly wasn't willing to look a gift horse in the mouth when the man had been such an invaluable addition to the Nocturnus Council, a deep scowl spread across his face in response to Dagomir's grin.

"I miss when you were grouchy all the time," Draco grumbled under his breath, tugging at his collar. If anything, the man's smile only widened. "Are you _positive _this is necessary?"

On his other side, Potter looked equally put out, his arms folded over his chest and a deep frown etched on his unfamiliar face.

"You wanted glamours," Dagomir clipped, peering between them. Leaning against the opposite wall, Hermione and Hugo stood out of the way, unwilling to get involved in the matter. Draco felt a sharp stab of betrayal as Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

Meeting her stare with narrowed eyes, Draco bit out, "I'm going to remember this."

"I don't understand why the glamours need to be female," Potter announced, a harsh line to the soft curve of his jaw. "We only need to make certain we aren't recognised, right?"

Dagomir glanced over his shoulder to where Hugo watched on, struggling to keep his expression blank. Wryly, Dagomir drawled, "I think this is my finest work."

Hugo only brandished two extended thumbs, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

"To answer your question," Dagomir said, turning back towards them as he fiddled with Draco's long hair, tucking a lock behind his shoulder, "many guards—not all, mind you, but some—will hesitate for a split second before attacking a woman. Call it what you will, but it's the truth in my experience. If any Avance scouts see you as men, they will attack on the spot."

While the response made a modicum of sense—if only slight—Draco wasn't ready to acquiesce to the idea of it just yet. Although if he was honest, both he and Potter made for attractive women.

This was the _last_ thing he had anticipated when they asked Dagomir to help prepare them for the trip to Malfoy Manor.

"We'll be under the Invisibility Cloak anyway," he ground out, resistant to the idea no matter the logic. Maybe it wouldn't seem so bad if Hermione would stop laughing at him.

"You shouldn't," she choked out. "You both look so lovely."

Draco had drawn the line at anything that wasn't trousers, especially since they might end up in a situation where they would need to move quickly, but he wore a soft cashmere jumper in a particularly bright shade of pink, and Dagomir had accessorised him with sparkly jewellery; Draco couldn't even imagine where he'd found it.

"Why does Potter get to wear green?" Draco realised he was behaving petulantly, but even so, his outfit was decidedly more feminine in appearance.

With a shrug, Dagomir only proceeded to adjust them once more as if they were his personal dolls. "The other option is that I propose a council vote and disallow you from going at all. The idea is madness as it is, and every chance I can give you to survive, whether you think it looks ridiculous or not, I'm going to take."

Scowling, Draco snapped his mouth shut.

Maybe the man wasn't simply having a lark. But Draco had never known Dagomir not to take his work seriously, and he certainly hadn't been making it any easier.

"Remember," Hugo mused from the wall, "use your magic to defend yourself if something happens but they _can't_ see you use the affiliation." A disconcerted frown slipped across his lips. "Let's hope you're lucky enough that you don't see anyone else at all."

"In and out," Draco said with a nod, taking in Potter's chocolate stare and black curls. His own eyes were a pale green, his long hair dirty blonde, as evidenced by the full length mirror ahead of them.

The plan was for the pair of them to Apparate onto the Manor grounds as closely as possible to the passage where he'd hidden and warded the journals. Without knowing anything more than Potter's vague understanding of the access wards Avance had established, they weren't sure how deep into the Manor they would go.

There was a chance they could trigger the Avance wards simply by entering the Manor, but hopefully they could avoid them altogether.

From the grounds beyond the Manor, they would be able to scour for magical signatures before Apparating closer, and it was their best shot to determine what they'd be walking into.

"Right," Potter replied belatedly, his own expression distant. "We get these journals you're so keen on and we'll Portkey back through several dead-end channels in case someone tracks us leaving the Manor before we re-route to the villa."

"The chain of Portkeys is already in place," Hugo added.

And since their best chance of avoiding detection would be to catch Avance unaware, they would be leaving in the small hours of the night. Which meant he and Potter would begin the trip to England shortly.

Draco shifted on the spot as he caught Hermione's eye, flexing his palm on instinct. He felt strange looking at her, his body shorter than usual which made her seem taller in comparison. She paced forward, coiling her hands around his arms.

"You're quite pretty," she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. "If this is the best way to keep you safe and back to me alive, then so be it." She drew him into an embrace, and he tugged her closer, inhaling a deep breath from the scent of her hair. By his ear, she whispered, "For Merlin's sake, be safe."

"We will," Draco murmured, glancing towards Potter before Hermione engulfed him in a hug as well. "And with any luck, we'll have answers soon." Before he could dwell too long on the thought that there had been far too many dangerous missions lately, he turned towards Dagomir with a nod.

"Very well." Dagomir reached out to adjust Draco's hair once more, but he shrugged him off, and the man clapped his hands together. "Do not even think of getting yourselves killed tonight."

Potter snickered, breaking the tension in the room, even as Hermione's eyes shone with poorly concealed tears; he could see sparks of magic dancing around her fingertips as she bit down on her bottom lip.

Stepping forward once more, Hugo placed a Portkey on a small end table and activated it before offering a sharp nod. "It will reactivate on command once you're ready to leave."

As Potter brandished the Invisibility Cloak, they shared a grimace before he threw the cloak over both of them. Dagomir checked his watch. "Nocturnus guide you," he said softly.

Beneath the cloak, Draco found Potter's gaze, far too close to his own, and they both reached out a hand towards the Portkey. Before he could rethink the situation, they were gone.

* * *

Their first stroke of luck was that Draco hadn't been able to detect any human signatures from the grounds as they looked upon the Manor from a distance. Four house elves were in one wing of the Manor, but that was to be expected. He knew the line of the wards like the back of his own hand—and it could be an entirely different story the moment they crossed the boundary.

If Potter's observations were correct, the Avance wards would have tied in with his own.

But the good news was that there was no one actively patrolling the property, so even if they were to trigger some insidious ward they weren't aware of, they would still have the jump on them.

"Can you detect anything?" Potter whispered as they circled around the perimeter to check for discrepancies. Draco's heart sunk into his stomach at the destruction that had befallen the Manor, and he knew he would have hated to see how it looked before the elves had begun to repair the damage.

"I'm not sensing any intrusion to my wards," Draco returned softly, testing and prodding his own magic to see how it would respond. "So if they've tied into the same boundary, they've done it well."

The affiliation was naturally spell-breaking, and though they'd discussed only using it if necessary, no one else was present. He fired a quick bolt of magic at his wards, feeling only his own magic echo back at him.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he muttered, "I think we're safe."

Coiling a hand around Potter's slender wrist, he Apparated them both into the Manor.

Without speaking, they ventured down the corridor as quietly as they could manage, casting non-verbal disillusionment and soundless charms on themselves for good measure. Tilting his head towards one corridor, Draco was pleased when Potter followed him intuitively with a silent nod. It would be easy to get caught up on one another, as the large cloak was snug with two people beneath it. But they moved seamlessly together.

Maybe he had initially underestimated the benefits to having a fully trained Auror along for the trip.

Twice, they had to reroute their path in order to circumvent damage to the Manor. While Draco longed to repair his family home, they couldn't risk using too much magic and drawing attention to themselves—least of all affiliation magic.

With a brief glance each way, Draco released the protective spells on a door into his father's old study before carefully easing the door open and slipping it shut behind them. But without lingering, he guided the pair of them into a hidden chamber at the back of the room, revealing a passage with a specific book.

Potter flashed him a grin as they stepped into a narrow corridor, once more concealing the entrance behind them.

"Nearly there," Draco huffed under his breath. "Then we get out of here."

Reaching his wand between the folds of the cloak, Draco tapped several bricks, releasing the wards he'd put in place before a small alcove revealed itself.

He'd stowed the journals into a satchel, and he withdrew the bag from the alcove, shrinking it down to fit in his palm and slipping it into a pocket.

"That's it?" Potter whispered, frowning when Draco nodded. "Feels anticlimactic."

"_Don't_," Draco hissed. Magic stung against his palm, tension roiling within him. He also thought it felt too easy—Potter had said that Avance had a means of tracking people coming and going from the Manor. "We have to get back to the receiving room. Most of this floor is firmly anti-transport."

Carefully checking for signatures, they slipped back through the passage and into the study. Draco's wand felt wrong in his right hand when such powerful magic pulsed in the other, but he clenched it into a tight fist to quell the glow beginning to emanate within the cloak.

He tugged at his collar, adrenaline spiking in his veins and racing through him. He felt hot, a prickle of sweat breaking along his temple. The sooner they could get out and get back to the villa, the better.

"Bloody hot in here," Potter muttered, tugging at his own green jumper.

At once Draco froze, his hand locking on Potter's wrist as he stopped short. "Fuck!" he breathed, squinting in the corridor ahead of them. His eyes stung. "Smoke."

Blinking several times, Potter rubbed a hand at his eyes and muttered, "You've got to be bloody joking."

With a great, cacophonous roar, the corridor rocked with a concussive blast, and Draco nearly lost his footing with the force of it. A short distance ahead, flames licked up the walls towards the ceiling, bright flashes of colour with sweltering heat.

"Change of plans," Draco choked, firing a blast of water behind him from his wand as he darted down the nearest corridor. "We'll have to circumnavigate to reach the receiving room."

"Fine," Potter huffed as they broke into a jog, careful to keep the cloak around themselves, but every so often Draco could feel the fabric sneaking up his ankles. There was nothing for it, he supposed, if their presence had already been revealed. With a sharp, "Watch out!" Potter screeched to an abrupt halt on the marble floor as another great blast sounded ahead of them, fire bursting forth once more.

"Bloody Avance and their _bloody _explosives," Draco cussed, shifting course again. They needed to backtrack a short distance to catch the next turn, and he was thankful he had spent so much time exploring the labyrinthine manor as a boy.

"It doesn't surprise me," Potter said, out of breath as they ran from the encroaching flames, "that you've dug up enemies that are so crazy they're fucking _bombing_ your house."

Draco fired him a grimace.

His heart clenched in his chest at the thought of the Manor, charred and unrecognisable, and a spasm chased through him when he thought of the four house elves they'd detected earlier.

"Potter, scan for the elves. Make sure they're alright." he said as he peered down one corridor, flames already spiking halfway down.

For a moment, he could feel Potter's stare on the side of his face, and he snapped his eyes towards the other man's. A crooked grin spread across his face, despite the dire situation in which they found themselves, and Potter only drawled, "Hermione's clearly had an impact on you."

Draco only grumbled, "Shut it, Potter."

"Four elves," Potter quipped in response. "They must have made it to safety onto the grounds."

"Here!" Draco called, the sound of flames crackling all around them as he shoved Potter into a hidden passageway. It was narrow—wide enough for elves but tight for humans—and he only hoped they could make it to the other side with haste. "This will get us where we need to go provided the other end hasn't been hit."

The floor ahead of them crumbled as flames broke through the wall, a beam crumpling into ash.

With a disbelieving huff, Draco only stared as their way forward fell to the flames, but Potter only shoved him on, shucking the cloak free from them both and tucking it under his arm. "_Go_!" he shouted, pushing Draco onwards.

"You're bloody mad." Sucking in a tight breath, Draco summoned all of his courage and broke into a sprint, leaping over a great gap in the floor that dropped into the level below. Potter crashed halfway into him as he followed, grappling at the bare wall as the floor dropped away beneath him.

Jumping ahead, Draco grabbed hold of Potter's arm and tugged him onwards.

The walls collapsed behind them, dropping down to the main floor with a great crash.

Panting from the exertion and the heat, and with terror clawing at the back of his mind, Draco chased onwards without any regard for anything as he blindly threw water from his wand. But there was no hope for it when the flames licked up all around them.

They would have already been gone if their path hadn't been blocked so many times, but in the chaos he could barely even recognise where they were, the blackened walls and furniture aflame all around them.

"Fuck it," he huffed, waving a hand ahead of them with a twist of his wrist, and a great rush of magic poured forth as he released the straining power of the affiliation.

Despite everything, they hadn't even seen a single other person, and he was left to believe they had walked right into an armed fire trap. That must have been what the Auror department had picked up on that he hadn't felt in the wards.

His heart mourned the destruction all around, the priceless artefacts and the ruined portraits, their subjects having long deserted their frames.

But still magic poured from his fingertips, quelling the fire ahead of them and dousing the flames with sheer force of will. His chest heaved with the exertion, until at last he dropped his hand to rest useless at his side, flexing his palm.

Potter watched, startled, his mouth hanging open before his gaze slid to meet Draco's at the charred, smoking remains ahead of them. "Shite, mate," he huffed, "that's wild magic."

"Tell me about it," Draco said with a grimace. "Why do you think they tried to kill me over it?"

Behind them, flames still licked the walls and ceilings, the beams groaning as the Manor collapsed all around them. Despair settled into his heart as he stared behind, lost for an answer until Potter nudged him in the shoulder.

"Malfoy," he muttered, "we've got to go. I'll alert Kingsley to get here once we get out, yeah?"

Draco managed a thick swallow. "Yeah. Good one. Thanks, Potter." Snapping back to attention, he nodded ahead. "Through there."

With the flames quelled in the immediate area, they were able to make it to the half-destroyed remains of the receiving room at last, and Potter wasted no time in reactivating the tin can Portkey before brandishing it forth. Draco clapped a hand to the can, feeling a pull beneath his navel as they left the Manor.

The stark silence that embraced them as they arrived at the designated location felt unfamiliar compared to the chaos of moments before, and Draco sucked in lungfuls of fresh air, his eyes and throat burning as he coughed, his lungs searing.

It was a painful reminder of the time Potter had saved him from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Hidden Things during the war. As their eyes met, he knew they were both remembering the same.

"Thanks, Potter," he gasped, rubbing at his throat as moisture broke from his eyes.

Potter's long hair was charred and shredded, his skin coated in ash and sweat, and Draco knew he wasn't likely to look any better. Potter clapped a hand to Draco's shoulder with a stuttering nod. "Close one."

Unease settled in the pit of his stomach to think of what he might have cost them in using the affiliation so abundantly. Surely if Avance could detect human presences, they could have a way to track magic.

As if sensing his train of thought, Potter murmured, "You did what you had to do. We could have died in there if you hadn't used the magic."

Draco gave a slow nod, sucking in a fortifying breath as he reached down for the next Portkey Hugo had left for them. "Let's get back."

* * *

Although it was the middle of the night, Hermione was wide awake. She sat in the kitchen, nursing a cup of cold tea with Dagomir and Hugo, but none of them had it in them to speak.

Draco and Harry ought to have been back by now.

Even with a conservative estimate of how long Draco thought it should take, they were almost an hour late.

Hugo tapped the edge of the table with the end of his quill, a jarring, disconcerting rhythm that grated against her nerves. But she didn't have the heart to ask him to stop when the sound of it kept her grounded.

Every few minutes, Dagomir checked his watch, as if expecting something to have changed.

And Hermione's heart simply clenched tighter in her chest with each sound and every flash of someone moving in her periphery. Narcissa had sat with them a while before seeking the solace of her gardens, and Madeline had flitted away after she passed out on Hugo's shoulder.

"Can you tell whether the Portkeys have been activated?" Hermione asked, her voice scarcely a hoarse whisper. She had felt a flicker of something in her marked wrist at one point, but they were so far away it was difficult to tell what it was. She had only recognised, in the brief instant, fear.

Thinning his lips, Hugo shook his head. "No."

After several more tense minutes, Hermione rose to her feet, pacing the small kitchen in an effort to keep her anxiety at bay. If something had gone wrong, she could lose both her husband—the love of her life—and her best friend in one fell swoop.

Then with a sudden rush of magic, sound jumped out at them from the sitting room, and they all rushed from the kitchen to see Harry and Draco. They had stripped themselves of their female glamours, but they were both a great mess.

Their clothes were torn and hair singed, faces blackened and filthy, and they looked more frazzled than she could have expected.

"Thank Merlin," she gasped, relief welling in her eyes. As she pulled Draco into her arms, his hold surprisingly strong as he tugged her in, Harry pulled his Nocturnus coin from his pocket and began tapping a message into it. Swiping at her eyes she asked, "What happened? Why on earth do you look like you've been trapped in a fire?"

Draco and Harry exchanged a grim look. "We were. The Manor was rigged with fire traps. We must have done something to activate them."

"We just barely made it back to the receiving room," Harry muttered, coiling a hand around Draco's shoulder. "Good thing Malfoy knows where he's going in that blasted place."

Blowing out a breath, Draco shook his head. His hands were black as he swept them through his hair, pale and short once more. "More like it's a good thing Potter doesn't freeze in the face of danger."

"Gryffindor." A wry grin spread across Harry's face. "I've just informed Kingsley what happened and he'll dispatch a team to douse the flames."

Bewildered, Hermione stared between the small group; if it was possible, Dagomir and Hugo looked even more concerned than she felt.

"Fire traps?" Dagomir asked at last, a deep furrow in his brow. "Did you see anyone from Avance?"

"No." Draco shook his head, his jaw clenched into a hard line. "They weren't there; it must have been triggered by our presence somehow. Before we knew it, the Manor was blowing up around us."

"Merlin," Hermione whispered, clapping a hand to her mouth. Her eyes still stung with tears, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and relief. "I'm so glad you're back."

Draco planted a kiss to her temple before rummaging in his pocket for a small shrunken satchel. "Thanks for your help, Potter. You saved my arse back there."

"You're the one who put out those fires," Harry muttered, looking sheepish as he slipped his hands into his pockets. Dagomir's stare snapped to his, and Draco looked a little put out at her side.

"The flames were too high—I didn't have a choice," he grumbled, curling his fingers into a loose fist.

Dagomir released a sigh. "Very well. We must only hope Avance did not detect it. In a decision between life and death, you must of course do what it takes."

Draco tossed the satchel onto the table, enlarging it with a wave of his wand. "For the love of Merlin, let's hope what we're looking for is in one of these journals."

Almost instantly, Hugo snatched up the bag with a somber nod. "I'll begin looking at once."

"Get some sleep, Hugo," Hermione said quietly. "The journals can wait until tomorrow—we'll go through them together."

He had been unusually quiet, and it was only then that she noticed the emotion behind his carefully stoic expression. The muted sunkenness to his stance. He only nodded, his lips pulling into a brief smile.

She felt herself withdraw as Harry said goodbye before returning again to England, and Hermione sunk into Draco's hold when he pulled her into her chest. The rest of them dissipated, intent to begin a search through the journals in the morning, but Draco dragged her in silence towards their suite.

"I need a shower," he breathed, sweeping a hand through his hair once more. He looked exhausted.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, peering up at him. As he opened his mouth to respond, she added, "_Actually_ alright."

Shaking his head, he admitted at last, "No. Not really. The Manor's destroyed and… I'm just tired. But it'll be alright."

Pressing up on her toes, Hermione planted a kiss to his lips, tugging his singed jumper over his head. She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth as she reached for his belt buckle, helping him from his clothes.

His eyes fluttered shut as if he didn't have the energy to do it himself, and slowly she stripped him down to his shorts before helping him into the bathroom. When his eyes drifted open slowly, fatigue and strain shone back at her.

"Is any of this even going to be worth it?" he asked, the words quiet as they resonated between them. "All this effort and we still don't…" He trailed off, slamming his lips shut.

"One day," Hermione whispered, pressing another kiss to his lips, firmer this time. "One day, Draco, we're going to look back on these trials and know that we did the right thing. We did what we needed to do. And…" her voice broke, tears threatening once more, "we never lost faith."

Draco's nose nudged hers, his lips seeking hers once more as he deepened the kiss. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers, breaking away to tug her top over her head. "Shower with me," he murmured against her skin, hitching her tightly against himself.

As he kissed her again, sweeping a hand down the curve of her hip towards her arse, he breathed, "Help me forget tonight."

Pushing her jeans from her hips as she reached for the taps, Hermione could only nod.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Can you believe this story is already 50 chapters? Thanks so much as always for reading! I hope you're still enjoying the story, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and LadyKenz347 respectively.


	51. Chapter 51

As Hermione shifted through a stack of old Nocturnus journals, her eyes straining with the effort of poring over barely legible text, she almost felt like they were back at the Manor again, and she and Draco had only just wed.

Except for the fact that, according to Kingsley, the Manor was almost beyond repair. The only reason it even still stood, after the firestorm it had faced three nights prior, was because of the ancient magic in the foundation of the building itself.

She'd tried not to dwell too long on the thought.

The night she and Draco had been joined at the bonding ceremony, on the grounds. The day they had explored the magic of the bonds in the throne room. His high end potions laboratory in the basement.

Every time Hermione had seen Narcissa ever since, the woman's eyes had been red-rimmed but dry. The four elves that had remained at the Manor had abandoned their reparation efforts when their hard work had been obliterated, and had come to the villa instead.

Hermione was only thankful they'd had the foresight to recognise the insidious magic of Avance's fire traps and escape the Manor before they'd been caught inside.

She could tell Draco had been trying to put on a brave face, but watching his home go up in flames—while trapped inside—couldn't have been easy.

Harry had been by for a visit the night before, with Daphne, Blaise, and Theo, as well as a few others, and Draco had been jovial enough. But Harry had admitted privately that he'd struggled with the aftermath of it as well.

They'd known Avance was sneaky, and that they weren't above utilising Muggle methods and hidden traps. But somehow their expectation was that if anything, Draco and Harry might have faced a spellfight. The only good thing about the fact was that no one had seen Draco use the affiliation.

Whether they'd been able to detect the magic remained to be seen.

Hugo released a loud sigh, loosening his tie as he rolled out his neck. "The menial things these people droned on about, I swear to Merlin."

"Dry, isn't it," she returned with a grimace. "I haven't seen anything about a shift in allegiance yet, have you?"

"No," he murmured, distracted, "but I'm looking for the command."

"The command?" Hermione asked sharply, glancing up. "Would that be connected?"

"I don't know." He fell silent for a moment, jotting several notes on a sheet of parchment. "But look at it like this—Ben told us that when Draco wanted to prove Cynthia's loyalty, he had to command her to swear it right?"

"Right," Hermione said, not entirely certain where he was going with the thought.

He hummed, tapping his quill on the table. "Maybe what Cosette's been doing—in forcing her drivel on our Nocturnus—is similar. So if the Lunae Ortus can learn to do the same—"

"Hugo," Hermione breathed, her eyes wide. "That's brilliant."

She considered the idea, mulling it over in her head while she stared blankly at the table in front of her. "If Draco could use his own command to overrule Cosette's, do you think it would be powerful enough to sway the stolen allegiances?"

Humming, Hugo flipped several pages in his journal before offering a grimace. "It's difficult to say. Remember, the allegiance shifted to Cosette when she stole the affiliation, right? But you and the Lunae Ortus have regained and strengthened _your_ respective affiliation powers, and that didn't passively trigger anything." He hesitated, dragging a hand along the stubble on his jaw. "I'd like to think so, because he's the proper Lunae Ortus, but…"

"But it's a risky gamble," Hermione breathed. They shared a tense glance. "Because if Draco reveals himself and it _doesn't_ pay off, Cosette and Elias will know he's alive."

"I've given this a lot of thought," Hugo said, "and about the fact that the allegiances were stolen, but they haven't been reclaimed by the development of the Lunae Ortus' affiliation once more. Remember, none of this is so cut and dry that it's occurred before and we can simply find this scenario in these journals. I can come up with only two options. And remembering our discussion the other day on the Elder Wand..." Hermione waited, her eyes flitting down to her journal. "Either the shift was spurred by the _theft_ of the affiliation—or something incredibly strange has happened in the matter of _your_ affiliation."

"What do you mean by strange?"

"I mean…" Hugo broke off again, uneasy. "The power that my father and Cosette have split _was_ the Lunae Ortus' magic. _Yours_ was derived from his through the bond—and I have to believe that the lunar power _he_ has now was essentially obtained in the same way. The strength of your bond is so powerful and complex that the magic is acting of its own accord." His eyes flitted to meet hers. "And I can only imagine what it's capable of."

As she considered his words, Hermione's gaze drifted to the wall above the mantle in the sitting room, where Hugo had mounted his great-grandfather's sword. When Draco had explained the significance to her after the fact, it had been sobering.

Belatedly, she responded. "What do you think it means?"

With a one-shouldered shrug, Hugo followed her gaze to the sword perched symbolically. "I don't know for certain, of course. But I think the magical connection between the two of you is rare."

The idea of it rolled around in the back of her mind, refusing to settle into place or make sense. If none of this would have happened, Hermione never would have had anything to do with Draco Malfoy. She cast Hugo a glance, almost apologetic, and his face softened as if he understood.

"I didn't see it coming either, if it helps," he said. "Remember? I told Draco I thought he shouldn't pick you because of your blood status. Merlin, how short-sighted was I?"

She chuckled, a little incredulous at the memory. "And now look how far we've come."

"Right," Hugo drawled with a snicker. "Stuck in a Spanish villa while we desperately search for an answer to all of our problems."

"And how's that coming?" Draco's sharp voice caught them both off guard as he strode into the sitting room, sinking into the sofa behind Hermione where she perched on the floor. He dropped his hands to her shoulders, giving a brief squeeze.

Hermione cast him a smile, even as Hugo's words continued to niggle at her. "We aren't certain yet, but Hugo's got an idea that you might be able to use the command to override the shift in loyalty."

Hugo lifted his brows in acquiescence. "You've got the affiliation back, after all, and you _are_ their proper leader. It's just a matter of being sure it's actually going to work, _before_ you reveal your presence to thousands of people who could otherwise turn on you."

The three of them shared a tense grimace.

At last Draco offered a stiff nod, reaching for one of the journals. "Then let's see what we can find."

They fell into silence but for the ruffling of pages.

* * *

"You've been acting strangely since this afternoon."

As Draco eyed Hermione from across the room, closing the door behind him, she offered a thin, halfhearted smile that didn't reach her eyes. Blinking away whatever haze had overtaken her, she said, "Just a lot on my mind."

He took a seat across from her on the bed, letting one leg hang over the edge. Her eyes lifted to meet his, uncertainty hanging in her stare.

"Anything we need to discuss?"

He couldn't help the fact that his palms grew clammy, his shoulders tense, every time he couldn't read her. After everything they'd been through, a part of him still wondered whether she'd come to regret it all.

She held his gaze for another moment before glancing towards the quilt, her head dropping into a soft tilt. "Why did you select me? Out of all those women."

A weight settled in his chest, stomach churning as he stared at her. Draco raked through his memories, back months ago to the day she had appeared in the throne room, presenting herself before him.

"Merlin, that feels like so long ago," he said.

Hermione's eyes found his once more but the indecision remained in the lines of her face.

Shaking his head, Draco said, "It made the most sense. You're obviously brilliant."

"That isn't a good answer," she breathed, something unreadable settling on her face. "Draco you _hated_ me. Why would you possibly think out of hundreds of women that _I_ was the best choice?"

The fact that he didn't know why she was asking these questions hung like a shadow in the back of his mind as he replayed the events that had led him before the council, proclaiming her as his Lunae Amor.

"I don't know." Pursing his lips, he took her hand into his. "I felt like I needed to justify it at the time. You were the smartest, the bravest… you weren't like all the others. I thought you'd be the most strategic partner." With a vague shrug, they sat in silence for a long moment. The words felt delicate as they left his lips. "After I met with you, I felt like you were the only option that made any sense. I can't explain it."

Hermione didn't speak for long enough that alarm bells flared, his magic crackling in his veins. A shiver lingered along his spine that had no connection with the pervasive heat that crept into the villa most days.

The only reassurance she offered was the gentle squeeze to his hand.

Draco clenched his jaw. "Why do you ask?"

For a moment he thought she might not even answer, but another half-smile finally graced her lips. "Something Hugo said today, I suppose. He thinks there's some sort of unusual connection between our magic. Because of the way I was able to gain the affiliation, and how you've recovered yours. He thinks there's some sort of magical bond between us—beyond the standard Lunae Bonds, of course."

Draco's eyes snapped up to meet hers. "He does?"

Hermione nodded. She disentangled their fingers, plastering her palm flat against his as she drew silver magic into her veins.

"Dagomir mentioned something like that because of the way you've bent the affiliation to serve your will," Draco admitted, his heart leaping at the flash in her eyes. "He thinks I was _meant_ to choose you."

A breath hitched in her throat. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," he whispered, twisting her shimmering hand palm up and trailing the fingers of his own marked hand along the flesh of hers. His magic flared to life along his spine at the feel of her affiliation twining with his.

Hermione swallowed, a puff of air chasing from her lips as she dropped her gaze to their hands. "I can't make sense of this. Why you chose me—why I felt like I needed to be there that day. And…" She blew out another sharp breath. "Why I feel like you're the piece I've been missing."

Draco froze, his fingers tightening around hers. Raw magic pulsed at the tips of his fingers and he breathed, "I don't think these are questions with easy answers. So much of this magic is still unknown."

He withdrew his hand, letting his magic expand between them, and he felt her magic nudge against his in return. The feel of it left him raw and exposed, the very depths of him laid bare before her in a way he'd never experienced.

Focused on the magic swirling into the air of the room, Hermione curled her fingers shut into a loose fist, her eyes seeking his. Draco felt like the breath had been sucked from his, his magic lurching towards her at the motion. His eyes flew open in surprise.

"What did you just—"

A twist of her wrist sent his magic flaring free into the space around them. His lips parted, the implications swirling around his hazy brain, overcome with the feel of her magic.

With a breath held in his chest, Draco jerked his wrist back, feeling her magic draw into him at the motion.

Hermione whispered, "Holy shit."

Silver magic hung dense in the air, brightening the room but for the darkness of her eyes grounding him. He dragged his fingers along her upturned palm, the feel of his magic grazing hers so sensitive he nearly recoiled from the intensity.

Worrying her bottom lip, Hermione rose from the bed and crossed the room, her eyes tight on his. Her shimmering fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against her leg, and without warning Draco felt his magic wrenched from within him; the lights flickered and turned off.

"What the fuck," he choked, "did you just use my magic?"

A quiet, incredulous laugh chased from her lips; he could just make out her silhouette in the failing dusk light through the window shades. She said, her lips curling, "Try it."

Narrowing his focus, Draco stared at her where she lingered by the door and imagined drawing her magic free. The shades on the window twisted, allowing moonlight into the room. A slow grin spread across his face, the feel of it overwhelming and heady.

His magic danced free from within him, twisting through the room and tangling with hers as if of its own volition. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Wonder shone in Hermione's eyes as she crossed the room, watching the flares of magic break free. Both of his palms shone with the lunar magic but it was as if the deep spring of it had transcended the constraints their mortal bodies provided.

The essence of her played against his skin and before he could marvel at the feel of it she pressed up on her toes, her lips brushing against his.

An eruption of magic shot through him and in that moment Draco wouldn't have been able to differentiate which way was up. He swallowed her gasp, deepening the kiss, feeling every part of her chasing through his core.

His magic was so awake, so stimulated that a groan slipped free of his throat when she wound a hand into his hair, her magic pulsing against the back of his head.

Distractedly, he pulled her shirt off with one hand, dragging the other down her bare back to hitch her closer. A whimper broke from her lips at the feel of the contact.

Draco's mind reeled.

Flashes of magic burst beyond his closed eyelids as he hitched her up, slamming her against the wall with less finesse than he'd intended, grasping a handful of her arse as her legs coiled around his waist. The fingers of his other hand faltered as he released the closure of her jeans, and he could feel the quake to her hands as she tugged his shirt over his head.

"Draco," she gasped, the word muffled as she kissed him again, deeper, pressing herself against his bare chest.

He couldn't tell where his magic ended and hers began, lunar magic bright and celebratory between them.

Something deep and primal seized at him as a growl chased from within him; he broke from her mouth, dragging his teeth along the curve of her jaw and sucking her earlobe between his lips. He purred into her ear, "My Amor."

She released a moan, the sound of it shooting straight to his groin as she fumbled with his trousers, shoving a hand into his pants without warning. As she dragged her fingers along his hardening length, he huffed a heavy breath, tossing her into the bed.

Magic swirled around the room in clumsy discordance, as if it sought to break free into the world beyond.

A slow grin stretched across his face as he gazed upon her. His heart raced an unsteady rhythm, breaths heaving from his chest. He kicked off his jeans before pulling Hermione's down her legs, tossing them to the floor.

His cock throbbed as he gazed at her in her bra and knickers, her magic teasing his and spurring him onwards. Draco felt halfway in a haze as he released the clasp of her bra and dragged her knickers free, leaving her fully bared to him. He threw his shorts to the pile.

A smirk curled his lips, her eyes dark as she reached for him, dragging him down onto the bed and kissing him again.

Merlin and Morgana, he could feel _her_ magic racing through him.

Hermione's tongue teased against his like her magic nudged his in his own veins. The feel of her fingers as they curled around his cock might have been enough to break him apart. As he slid his fingers between her legs, Draco felt as if he could simply implode from the overwhelming feel of it all.

Every touch flared through him, emotion and feeling racing between them as if they weren't wholly separate beings.

He breathed, "Hermione," against her lips as she grabbed hold of him without warning and positioned him at her entrance. A grin spread into his cheeks as he slid into her.

And if he thought he'd known pleasure before, he'd been wrong. A low groan chased his lips at the crashing of sensation, and he found himself thrusting into her, harder, faster, her cries urging him on as she dragged her nails along the muscles of his back.

The feel of Hermione clenching his cock was almost more than he could take, magic and adrenaline a dull roar behind his ears. Pure and unadulterated awareness of her swept through him, wave after wave, as with each thrust he neared close to the edge.

Draco lost track of everything but the onslaught of _her_, pleasure and delirium spurring him on. Her nonsensical exultations whispered against his ear tugged at something deep within him. Finally he felt her tense around him and he broke, pleasure crashing over him and coursing through his veins with the darkening of his vision.

He froze above her, harsh exhales breaking free and a sheen of sweat at his temples.

Clouds of magic hung in the room, his or hers he didn't even know.

For all he could tell, it wasn't separate anymore.

Draco collapsed alongside Hermione, and despite the soft, sated smile on her lips, her eyes were glassy. She gazed up at the ceiling, tugging the thin sheet up over them, and he realised gentle shivers racked her body.

He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple as he wrapped his arms around her, and murmured only a quiet, "_What_."

She released a soft giggle, twisting her fingers in the air. Thin streams of magic broke from her fingertips. "I don't know."

He couldn't begin to explain or rationalise what had happened—how their magic had escaped and entwined—or why he could _still_ feel her as if they weren't quite separate.

Silently, she dragged his magic free from his palm, experimenting with the way his magic reacted to her, and Draco could only watch in awe.

She used his magic to pour two glasses of water from the bedside carafe, and Draco wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't felt the flare of his own magic. "Stop that," he said, a wry grin spreading across his lips even as he accepted one of the glasses as they floated past him.

As she sipped from her water she didn't respond, but when she set down the glass she shifted towards him. He caught another glimpse of her eyes, shiny with moisture before her face vanished into his bare chest.

"All I know," she said, the words soft and muffled against his skin, "is that I'm yours and you're mine." She drew back only far enough to blink up at him, a tear breaking free. "And I'll follow you anywhere."

Draco clenched his jaw, drawing her closer as he felt his affiliation start to settle at last. And before the last of the shimmering magic dissipated, he drifted into slumber.

* * *

When they emerged for breakfast the next morning, it was nearly half nine. Draco stifled a wide yawn, his entire body fatigued from magical exertion.

Hermione walked a little clumsily at his side, a sleepy smile on her lips as she took a seat at the breakfast table by his side. It wasn't until Draco was halfway through spreading marmalade on a slice of rye that he looked up at their companions.

Hugo sat tall in his seat, his brows high and expression stoic. Colour flared in Madeline's cheeks as she gazed into the sitting room beyond. And Dagomir scowled at the table, a stern furrow in his brow as his eggs sat untouched.

A frown slipped onto Draco's face. "What's wrong?"

Although he clenched his jaw into a hard line, a snicker escaped Hugo's throat. Dagomir fired him a look. Hugo clicked his tongue and asked, "Good night?"

Madeline clapped a hand over her mouth, just barely stifling a high release of mirth.

Draco froze, casting Hermione a sidelong glance; her eyes were startled wide. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, offering the table a grimace.

Dragging a hand along the back of his neck, he muttered, "Sorry."

Hermione's face shone red.

"Some interesting…" Hugo cleared his throat, making a face, "_magic_ coming from your room last night." He snickered, ignoring Dagomir's low snarl, and added, "But hey—at least your mother stayed at her sister's."

"Thank Merlin for that," Draco clipped, and the tension broke.

A bit of a giggle finally slipped from Hermione, and she exchanged a bashful glance with Madeline.

Dagomir took a swig of pumpkin juice with an uneasy effort at a grin before he rose and departed the room with a bit of an awkward bow.

A full-on snort escaped Hugo as the man left the room. His eyes widened as he drawled, "_Anyways_. Now that you're both up and refreshed."

Draco fought a smirk at Hermione's obvious embarrassment, even as he caught Hugo's eye. He took a large bite of his toast, wondering whether they'd noticed the multiple rounds that had followed the night before.

The adviser proffered forth one of the old journals, flipping it open to a marked page with a quiet, "You're going to want to take a look at this."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks as always for reading, friends! We're coming into the home stretch here and I almost can't believe it. See you in five days!

Alpha hugs and squishes to Kyonomiko.


	52. Chapter 52

The Nocturnus Council sat around the table in the parlour, each of their stares fixed on Draco.

As Dagomir's newly promoted second in command, Ben was present for the meeting, and as one of the most proficient spellcasters among the guard, Boris had been invited as well. The latter had been training intensively every day in an effort to take up the position as their mage.

Temporarily, if all went to plan and they were able to recover Glenneth.

But the absence of a high mage on the council had become increasingly evident.

Dagomir was the one to break the silence, his gaze flitting to the journal on the table before Draco, with a quiet, "What have you learned?"

"_Hugo_ learned," Draco corrected, "how to utilise the affiliation to channel the command using a mental link." As one, the guards sucked in a breath. "Of course, we aren't certain whether it will work."

"It will need to be tested," Hugo broke in, straightening in his seat. He cleared his throat. "Extensively."

Although his lips twisted into a grimace, Dagomir nodded. "I don't see any reason why we won't be able to test it with the Nocturnus that are here. Do you believe this to be what Cosette has been using to retain the stolen loyalty of the rest of the Order?"

"According to what we've learned from Madeline, I believe so." Hugo offered a nod although Draco could see a thin sheen of sweat on his temples.

It was a high stakes game they sought to play. And if one thing went wrong, it could all prove disastrous.

Draco clenched his jaw, attempting to stem his own nerves at the thought. He tapped his fingers along the surface of the table, magic unfurling within his veins and building against his palms. Ever since the _breakthrough_ he and Hermione had experienced several nights prior, the magic of the affiliation had strengthened to the point where he sometimes didn't know what to do with it all.

Hermione had taken to expending magical energy on small tasks just to keep herself functional.

He frowned at the thought of the power Elias and Cosette possessed—the split remnants of his prior affiliation. Draco doubted either of them could touch the level of power that now appeared to flow between him and Hermione.

Hugo shifted awkwardly at Draco's left with an uneasy flash of white teeth. "Would you mind _not_ doing that?"

Snapping his attention back to the meeting at hand, Draco looked up. Clouds of magic seeped from his hands where they rested on the table; the council wore varying expressions of awe and discomfort.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and with a twist of his wrist, reined in the magic that had broken free of its own accord. The wisps that lingered dispersed into the air. With a wince he said, "Sorry."

Hermione broke the tension, flipping the pages of the journal before them. "Our consideration is that Draco will be able to activate the mental link as Cosette has done, only that he'll be able to overpower her as the true leader of the Nocturnus Order. Cosette is just…" she wafted an idle hand, contemplating. "Well we don't really know, do we? It doesn't even make sense, really."

"Cosette is a thief," Dagomir ground out, the venom in his voice settling with a chill in Draco's spine.

"This is a gamble," Ben said, dragging a hand through his hair as he shook his head. "How do we know this won't simply alert all of Nocturnus to the fact that the Lunae Ortus is still alive _and_ in possession of the affiliation again?"

Hermione clipped, "We don't."

As if feeling the gravity of the statement, the table fell silent.

"And presuming our tests are viable and this actually has a shot at working—when will we seek to reclaim the stolen allegiances?" Dagomir asked, as if intent on learning everything before weighing in. "Obviously the Lunae Ortus will need to go to the Nocturnus castle in order to have the best shot at reaching everyone."

"Madeline hears Cosette from here," Hugo pointed out, scratching at his stubble, "although we don't know for certain whether she hasn't missed messages. At any rate, I think you're right."

Drumming his fingertips on the table again, feeling nerves escalate within him, Draco faced the council. "Hear me out. I have an idea, but it's crazy."

Every set of eyes swivelled towards him.

Draco stood from his seat, tapping the map of the Nocturnus castle. A large red X had been drawn over the location where Cynthia claimed Avance was keeping Glenneth.

"We mean to break in and recover Glenneth; Hermione will go with Ben and Cynthia," Draco said quietly, holding Dagomir's stare.

"While running a decoy to draw Avance's attention away," Dagomir added, his expression faltering as he read something in Draco's face. It was the plan they'd been preparing for.

Draco blew out a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. His magic strained to break free once more and he clenched his hands into fists. "What if it wasn't a decoy?"

He snapped his eyes open to see the blood drained from Dagomir's face beneath his beard.

"What are you suggesting, Lunae?" Ben asked, sweeping a hand through his hair. "If not a decoy?"

Drawing out a line across the map, towards the opposite corner, Draco tapped his finger. Another X appeared. He debated once more the plan he, Hermione, and Hugo had come up with, wondering how insane they had to be to suggest something so incredibly daft.

Quietly, he said, "A full on two-pronged assault."

The guards sat in silence, sharing a brief glance between the three of them that spoke volumes. Then Dagomir rose, pacing towards the fireplace before turning back. He shook his head. "This is madness. We don't have the numbers—"

"Not yet," Hermione breathed at Draco's side. She squeezed his hand in hers. "Which is why Draco will need to use the command to draw the allegiances of Nocturnus _back to Nocturnus_."

Draco watched the moment the idea clicked in the back of Dagomir's mind. The man looked as if he might lose his stomach.

"If everything goes according to plan," Hermione said, standing from her seat and tapping the two marked spots on the map. "Each side will work in tandem as a potential decoy for the other. Recovered allegiances—recovered mage."

"And before Avance knows what's happening, they're on the wrong side of a severe disadvantage." Draco swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

The entire table stood now, quiet discussion breaking out.

Draco watched steely determination flash through Dagomir's face as he spoke with Hugo; Boris and Ben leaned over the map, tapping out additional locations.

Magic roiled within his entire being, pulsing with the throb of his heart in his chest.

It would be their final stand.

At last Dagomir stepped forward, resignation on his face as he shook his head. He met Draco's stare across the table as he leaned in, planting his palms to the wooden surface.

"If this is what we're doing," he said quietly, the room stilling, "we're going to do it right. Let's get to work."

Draco felt a slow smirk curl his lips.

* * *

The past week had been a complete blur.

Hermione could hardly count the days as they slipped past, one flowing into the next like the magic roaring in her veins. Seeking its release and retribution against those who had so greatly wronged them.

As it turned out, accessing the command was more work than they'd initially suspected, but as with everything else, Draco eventually learned control. First verbally, and then little by little, he began to access the mental link.

Harnessing the Lunae command required a great deal of intention—more than they'd seen in anything else so far—especially since they didn't want to alert any of the Nocturnus at the castle until they were ready.

And if Draco wasn't cautious, he could accidentally project a message beyond the wards of the villa.

Each day, the council and guards would practice, testing Draco's magical capabilities until he was spent, collapsing at Hermione's side each night.

Then they began to bring in others. Harry and Daphne, Theo and Blaise.

With each test, they began to learn more; distance, intensity, clarity.

And despite the drain to his magic and mental state, day in and day out, Draco hadn't complained once.

Hermione hadn't dared suggest anything, either. Not even when she began to feel the strain in her own magic core. Whatever they had accessed _that night_ had linked their magic, as if each of their usage of the affiliation came from the same vast pool of lunar power.

She still wasn't quite accustomed to the feel of Draco's voice infiltrating her mind, but she had seen his mind project once before, the night of the oath taking ceremony.

And despite the fact that she and Draco were equals and he couldn't technically command anything of her, she could still feel the authority in the command.

Could see the impact on Hugo and Dagomir and the guards as they instantly stood on their guard, heads bowed in respect.

Hermione didn't like it—and she liked it even less when Draco told her Lunaes long past, corrupted by the power of the affiliation, had used the command for darker purposes than to challenge their adversaries.

But if it was the only way to regain the loyalties of those who had once sought to protect them, she was willing to go along with whatever it took.

Just that morning, Dagomir and Hugo had Apparated into a nearby town wearing their street clothes and glamours, and Draco had attempted to call out the two of them with the command.

The effort had been a success.

Hermione had seen the glimmer of achievement in his stare, a smile tugging at his lips as she winced under the sudden onslaught of a migraine behind her eyes.

But with each test hope rose among their small but determined group that Draco would be able to draw the Nocturnus back to their side.

With a strengthened army once more—and if Hermione and Cynthia were able to recover Glenneth—they would face a very real and favourable shift in the tides of war.

Aside from the fact that they would still have to face two people who had developed ruthless control of their respective affiliation powers.

Hermione knew Elias and Cosette didn't have what she and Draco had—that extra element that linked their magic and had drawn their affiliation to the surface in bountiful waves—but the affiliation was deadly no matter what.

She felt the subtle tug at her magic and the flicker of pressure in her temples that suggested the invocation of the command, and a smile curled her lips as Draco's voice flitted through her mind moments later.

_We have news from the castle. Please assemble in the barracks._

It had become the easiest way for all of them to meet up, especially since the guards—on top of still operating more extensive patrol rotations than ever—had also begun plotting the most effective way onto the castle grounds.

Several guards jogged past as Hermione made an idle path towards the barracks, a smile lingering on her face as they waved. Draco had been practicing with the idea of isolating the mental link to some people and not others, and they'd been sending guards all over the grounds.

But when she arrived at the barracks, the dire expressions of the guards who must have returned from the most recent patrol stifled the spring in her step.

She was one of the last to arrive and took up a spot beside Hugo in the meeting chambers; Draco stood in quiet conversation with Dagomir, a furrow in his brow.

Folding his arms, Ben turned to address the gathered crowd. Without any preamble he announced, "Tressel is dead."

Hermione blinked several times, processing the information before she asked, "How?"

She met Draco's gaze across the circle; she harboured no love for Elias' replacement treasurer who had betrayed them in the end, but the circumstances around his demise could prove important.

Ben released a sigh, conflict in his face. "As per the healers, the official cause of death is a _ruptured_ magical core."

Hermione winced at the mental image.

"He simply didn't get up today," Ben elaborated. "But I can't imagine many worse ways to go."

"This is good news, right?" Draco asked, scratching the stubble on his jaw; Hermione could see the white shimmer to his fingers in the absent movement. "Do we think this is connected to his broken oaths?"

"It must be," Dagomir said. "The punishment is appropriate to the crime. For treason and betrayal of his Lunaes, Tressel has forfeited his life. Many lives were lost by his actions, Nocturnus and Avance alike."

Allowing only a brief sidelong glance towards Hugo, Hermione could see the blood had fully drained from his face, his mouth twisted in a bitter grimace.

"There's a complication." Ben's words fell on the heaviness of Hermione's heart, and with his tone, her hopes sunk further. He measured his words for a moment before speaking again. "According to Cynthia, Elias suspects Glenneth's hand in Tressel's death."

"What?" Hugo snapped, his gaze flashing. "That's absurd; they've got Glenneth magically neutered and caged like little more than a pet. There's no way he would have been able to do something like that."

Hermione murmured, "They're paranoid."

It had been months now since Cosette and Elias had taken hold of the affiliation and begun to harness its power for themselves. The affiliation wasn't easy to control, as both Hermione and Draco had learned. She could easily see how the magic could overtake its caster and embed such a seed. Especially since they'd stolen it in the first place.

"What does this mean?" Draco's quiet words reverberated through the assembled council and guards.

Ben frowned, exchanging a look with Dagomir. "They're moving Glenneth—deep into the bowels of the castle."

Cold dread crept through Hermione, settling in the pit of her stomach. She and Draco had ventured into the old Nocturnus dungeons once; they'd only lingered a few minutes before darting back up the stairs, drawing in great lungfuls of air.

The cells were formed of thick steel imbued with so many ancient enchantments, the sentient magic that contained the prisoners so bitter and spiteful that there would be no way to penetrate the bars. Hermione doubted even the affiliation would be able to break the enchantments. According to Draco the dungeons hadn't been used in centuries; just to exist within them was torture in its own.

She could still remember the chill that had lingered within her for the hours that followed.

"If they take Glenneth into the dungeons there will be no way for us to reach him," Dagomir said, a heavy note of finality in his voice. "Which means we need to act fast or not at all."

"We need Glenneth," Draco said, his jaw a hard line. "How much time do we have?"

"They need to reinforce the wards before they move him down," Ben said with a grimace; Hermione suspected he'd experienced the dungeons himself. "We have two days."

"Two days," she breathed, her heart leaping in her chest. "That isn't enough time. We aren't nearly ready."

"We have two days," Dagomir echoed, his voice soft and resolute. "Beyond that, our plan will be rendered useless. If we can't get Glenneth back on our side, we will need to switch tactics."

Hermione could tell by the downturn to his lips that no one wanted the alternative tactic. If they couldn't save Glenneth they would need to eliminate him; if they could even get to him to do so. Lifting her chin she said, "We have to save him. Two days it is."

Never mind they didn't have any aspect of the plan finalised. They didn't even know the full reach of Draco's command yet. And they had no idea if anything would work out.

After months of carefully gathering information and preparing for an eventual assault, they now found their greatest hand forced.

She saw the despair in Draco's gaze across the room, shuttered out when he blinked. Solidifying the thought, he breathed, "Two days."

* * *

Draco's magic had taken up residence in the back of his brain. Each pulse of the affiliation was a cruel, mocking countdown of the time they didn't have.

The plan was sound, and everyone was in agreement. But they didn't have nearly enough time to properly enact it.

Their window of time to get to Glenneth shrank by the minute, and if they couldn't get the mage back on their side, Cosette would simply use him to stifle their magic again. Things would play out as they had at the fortress, only now their adversaries had terrible, ancient magic they wouldn't hesitate to use.

As arranged before, Hermione would take a small group for a stealthy infiltration. They had debated the idea of catching Glenneth while he was being transported, but their margin of error would diminish to zero if they waited until the last possible minute. And seeking out Glenneth while Avance's eyes were already on him would make everything infinitely more complicated.

Inconveniently, Elias' suspicion of Glenneth in the case of Tressel's death had drawn inadvertent attention to the mage as it was.

Draco wondered if Tressel's premature demise had Elias shaking.

Or whether the man's hubris fed his own beliefs that he was untouchable. A cruel smirk crept across his face. Elias had been playing too close to the sun, and Draco would gladly see his wings melt.

His magic danced at the thought.

While Hermione and her group sought to free Glenneth from his magical bonds, Draco would face his biggest test of the command magic by a significant margin. At most, he had tested on a little over one hundred people, guards and inducted friends included.

And now they would face an estimated fifteen to eighteen hundred Nocturnus.

With no room for mistakes or miscalculations. His efforts to reclaim Nocturnus would offer Hermione and Ben the time they needed to get to Glenneth and get out.

The thought still niggled in his mind that the command might not be strong enough to overpower Cosette's control.

But Draco had to choose hope. He had the power and the ability to use it for good. With intention they could do this.

He had to _believe_.

Draco found Hermione at the top of the rope ladder on the roof of the villa, swirls of magic hovering about her and tracing intricate pictures into the night sky, reminiscent of the constellations above.

A soft frown tugged her lips downwards, her expression distracted as he settled down beside her. Instantly, his magic awoke and reached for hers—the other side to his own coin.

Their magic had developed a sort of complementary existence, a push and pull, and Draco had learned to recognise the hint in his own magic when she did anything significant. And he could always feel the response of her magic in kind whenever he activated the command's mental link.

They sat in silence, Draco allowing his magic to drift free and mingle with hers.

Together they painted a beautiful picture upon the blanket of night above.

At last Hermione blew out a breath and whispered, "We aren't ready for this."

"I know." Draco hummed, planting his hands flat on the sloped roof. He cast her a brief glance. "Are you afraid?"

She swivelled to face him. "Aren't you?"

"Terrified." The word left him as a hoarse breath, his throat dry. Vulnerability swelled within him, settling as a tightness in his chest, but her fingers only curled around his own. She offered a stilted nod, and Draco twisted his hand, giving hers a squeeze. "But we don't have a choice."

Slowly, she shook her head, gazing out onto the grounds. On the other side of the villa, guards still trained outside despite the late hour, the constant bustle in and out of the barracks persistent.

Everything was in place. The plan was to go ahead tomorrow.

"Maybe we're making a mistake," Hermione breathed.

"Maybe."

She huffed, irritation crinkling the skin between her brows, and opened her mouth to say more. But something in Draco's stare must have stayed her tongue because she only sighed.

Time had felt like such a blur ever since the battle in Italy, but months had passed. The fear and trepidation that Draco had felt in the leadup to that confrontation had felt different than the determination that now eclipsed him.

They hadn't had time to enact the full extent of their plan. But the past months hadn't been for naught, and it was with resignation he faced the dawn.

"I'm trying to remind myself we don't have another option," he said carefully, tapping the fingernails of his free hand on the roof. "Because if we miss this chance to get to Glenneth, we won't have another." He sucked in a long breath and blew it out. "And if we don't get to Glenneth, we're as good as dead, whether tomorrow, next month, or next year."

Hermione remained silent, her magic twisting with his own, and Draco felt it in his soul.

No one fully understood the depth of the magic the mage possessed and how it differed from the affiliation, only that the passing of the mage line was an ancient tradition. And Glenneth, somehow, had the power to stifle the affiliation.

Maybe it was even a failsafe of sorts.

"We could spend the next five years monitoring Avance," he breathed at last, "but eventually we need to act. And maybe this is the time to act."

For all they knew, someone could make a mistake and reveal their presence. Cosette and Elias could continue to get stronger. By delaying further, Nocturnus could wind up in a more precarious position than they were already in.

Although she only continued to stare at the sky, she sucked in a shuddering breath. When Draco glanced her way, he could see moisture at the corners of her eyes.

"You were the one who told me to believe," he said, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze. "And I'm trying to do my part now."

"Draco," Hermione said, "you've more than done your part." She turned to face him, a sad smile tugging at her lips as tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks. "Look at all you've done."

"We," he corrected absently.

Her shoulders sunk. "What we've done." She waved a hand down towards the guards. "This council has risen again, stronger than before. The people of the Nocturnus Order are driven by something deeper and stronger than they ever had before. They followed their Lunae Ortus because of your heritage, green and untested though you were, but now, Draco…" She shook her head, her eyes shimmering. "They believe in _you_. They face war because of you."

"No," Draco whispered, her sweet words tugging at his heart strings. "They believe in what Nocturnus is becoming and their role within it. It was a dream, at one point—to see the Order strong and decisive, forging new paths. The Nocturnus Order now isn't like it was, but maybe one day it will be greater than ever."

Hermione drew in another long breath, her expression faltering. "Our dreams aren't over, Draco. We still have a chance to make this right."

He tangled their fingers, managing a steely breath of his own. "Maybe this is how I set aside my fears to face tomorrow. By knowing we've done what we can and we're as prepared as we're able to be. With hope and a belief that we can still see that future one day." He caught her stare, glistening with the moon high above. "This isn't nothing, Hermione. All that we've done—this hasn't been for nothing."

"This is for so much," she murmured. A hint of a smile curled her lips at last. Her hand shone where it held his, magic breaking from her palm and infusing through his skin, settling into his core. "We have _so much_ _more _than they do."

"We do," Draco agreed, bringing the back of her hand to his lips. "We have loyalty and trust."

"We have hope," she gasped, tears breaking in earnest from her eyes. "And faith."

He held her gaze, forcing down a swallow. "We have love."

She ducked in, capturing his lips in a brief, searing kiss. Draco could feel the moisture from her tears on his own cheeks when she drew away, her stare raw and vulnerable as she gazed at him. Her lips twitched. "Love conquers all, or haven't you heard?"

"Love," Draco snickered, "and some insanely powerful lunar magic."

Her smile widened, breaking into a full grin as it spread into her cheeks. Her magic danced against his own as she blew out a breath, straightening her shoulders. "We've got this."

Draco wasn't certain whether the words were meant to encourage herself or him, but he nodded, allowing a smirk to take his lips. He echoed only, "We've fucking got this."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone, thanks so much as always for reading. It's Thanksgiving this weekend here in Canada and I'm so thankful to have people who have enjoyed coming along on this journey with me. I'm so grateful for your support, and your lovely words lift my spirits these days more than I can even say.

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and ravenslight respectively.


	53. Chapter 53

The last time Hermione donned her Nocturnus battle armour, her world had turned inside out.

The die had been cast, the pieces in place, and the plan would soon launch irreversibly into motion.

They were as ready as they were ever going to be―the mantra that had cycled through Hermione's head for the past twenty-four hours. But with only two days to work out so many details, many of their plans had ultimately been foregone for the sake of a streamlined effort to reclaim what was theirs.

The castle―their freedom―their lives.

Those who remained loyal to Nocturnus were prepared to fight with their lives to whatever end the day may bring. The thought churned a whirlpool of anxiety in the pit of Hermione's stomach, and it was a wonder she had managed to eat anything the night before.

Only by the soothing comfort Draco's magic offered had she found any sleep at all.

She cycled through the plan in her mind for what must have been the thousandth time, lingering on the details and trying _not_ to focus on the many ways everything could go wrong.

There was nothing for it now. Once they crossed the threshold of Avance's wards at the Nocturnus Castle, there would be no going back, only through.

And Hermione could only hope at the end of it, truth and loyalty would bring them to victory.

Stowing her wand into its holster at her thigh―for good measure more than anything when the affiliation could do so much more than her wand could―she rose to her feet, facing herself in the floor length mirror in their quarters.

She felt Draco's presence before she saw him, walking up behind her. His gaze caught hers in the mirror's reflection, and Hermione bit down hard on her bottom lip to combat the sting of tears.

"Look how beautiful you are," he said, his lips grazing her temple. "My Lunae Amor."

Hermione sunk back into his hold as his arms banded around her middle, basking in the momentary relief from her fears. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling moisture break free. "How do we know this is going to work?"

"We don't." Draco pressed a soft kiss to her cheekbone then to the curve of her jaw. "All we can do at this point is have faith."

A laugh slipped out despite herself as she said, "You make it sound so easy."

"It is so difficult." The words were barely a whisper against her skin, and a shiver crept down Hermione's spine. His arms around her tightened. "The only way I have any faith at all is by looking to you. And in knowing that I can't fail you."

"I love you." The words might have broken her if his grip wasn't so tight.

His lashes fluttered open, grey eyes seeking her own once more in the mirror. "I will do whatever it takes to be at your side at the end of all this."

A tear chased down her cheek. "I'm going to hold you to that, Draco Malfoy."

"Okay," he breathed, resting his face against her temple once more. "This is our fight, Hermione. Our fight to win. And all of this ends today."

The certainty in his words steeled her own courage, and she straightened, squaring her shoulders as she lifted her chin.

"There's my queen," Draco said, pressing another quick kiss to her skin as he adjusted her silver coronet in the mirror. "I know you know what to do as soon as you land in Italy―but please get your pretty little arse back to my side as soon as humanly possible."

A smile curled her lips as she said, "Deal."

He stared at her for another long moment, his eyes roving her face as if memorising her. Interlocking their fingers across her front, he gave her hand a squeeze. Then his expression sobered and he said, "We need to go."

He drew back, the loss of his warmth heavy on her soul, and Hermione nodded. She could already feel her magic reaching for his by the time he made it to the door. With one final shaky breath in and a long, shuddering breath out, Hermione turned to follow.

* * *

The Portkey was set to dispatch at precisely ten past six, and Hermione gazed upon her companions, the sun just peeking along the horizon. Boris stood at her left as their most skilled spellcaster and Ben at her right, who was surprisingly stealthy despite his bulk. Ben had corresponded the most with Cynthia regarding their side of the plan; both guards had spent hours studying every corridor and hidden passage in the Nocturnus Castle.

Some feet away Draco stood in quiet conversation with Hugo and Dagomir; Hermione didn't allow her gaze to linger or draw her focus. She had already said all she dared to each of them.

As soon as they'd secured Glenneth, she would see Draco again.

Anything else wasn't an option, and she already longed for the minutes to pass. But so many dangers lurked, implicit, within the plan, and she wouldn't dare allow herself to be distracted.

An emergency Portkey had been sewn into a hidden pocket in her sleek battle leathers, but Hermione also knew she wouldn't use it. She would fight her way out if she had to, whether by wand or affiliation, but she wouldn't leave anyone behind again.

Hermione glanced at her watch, noting the time, and caught Ben's gaze.

"Are you ready, Lunae Amor?" he asked. The nerves in his expression weighed more heavily than she had ever seen, and Hermione knew he feared not only for her and Draco, but for Cynthia as well.

Hugo had spent the past two days in varying shades of green, as if he knew what was coming but refused to back down. He wore his great-grandfather's sword once more proudly at his hip, and Hermione found her eyes stinging as she wrenched her gaze back towards her own group.

"Yes," she whispered.

Not because she was truly ready; she would never be ready for what they were to face. But because there were no other options anymore. If they were to rescue Glenneth and prevent the strange and powerful magic he possessed from working against them once more, they had to act now.

According to Cynthia, Glenneth would be moved to the dungeons in some three hours, and if they didn't move on the plan in time, they risked detection.

And they wouldn't be ready to fight until Draco had fulfilled his role in securing the allegiances of every Nocturnus member trapped within Avance's iron grip.

Draco's team―which was significantly larger, given they wouldn't actually be crossing the Avance wards until the command had activated―would land in a grove beyond the castle. Numerous teams of guards and other fighters would Portkey into the fringes, surrounding the castle.

Their friends who had sworn their Nocturnus oaths would be among those teams, but Hermione couldn't allow herself the distraction right now. She had spoken at length with Harry the night before. Had clung to him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

And they hadn't had time for further sentimentality. Not with so many lives hanging in the balance.

As her watch ticked over to ten past, the Portkey hovering between her, Ben, and Boris activated. Its pale blue glow illuminated the faces of her companions, and when Hermione glanced over, she found Draco's stare already on hers.

He fluttered his fingers by his side, throat bobbing with a swallow, and Hermione felt the tug of his magic against hers. A soft smile curled her lips, and she prodded at his magic in return.

From across the small space between them he mouthed 'I love you'. Hermione clapped a hand across her mouth with a tight nod, allowing her magic to coil tightly around his.

Before she could do something astronomically stupid like run to his side, she turned back towards Ben and Boris. Blowing out a breath, she nodded, reaching for the Portkey. Her fingers brushed the cold metal, and the three of them were gone.

* * *

Although the sun had begun to rise, a restful haze hung in the air when they landed in Italy. From the short distance away Hermione could see the Nocturnus Castle, and her heart twinged in her chest at the sight of it.

While it was early in the morning, there had been no ideal time to arrange the extraction. Some Avance guards would be awake and patrolling, along with any early rising residents, but according to Cynthia, the guard presence on the grounds was twice as heavy between the hours of eleven and six.

By the time they breached the wards at a quarter past, the last of the overnight guard patrols would have made their way into the castle.

But if their intelligence was to be believed, Cynthia's presence would help them enter the castle undetected. Coupled with Hermione's use of the affiliation and Boris' spellbreaking on the wards in the worst case scenario.

A disturbance in the wards, though they intended to avoid such a thing, would draw attention outwards so they could get in to find Glenneth. Although a disturbance would also raise alarms they didn't want raised.

Cynthia stood in wait at the designated meeting point, one of the locations the guards had verified as a blind spot in their countless reconnaissance missions. She looked anxious but alert, and Ben dragged her into a brief embrace, dwarfing the girl in his muscular arms.

"Good," she said, shifting on the spot as she briefly bowed her head in Hermione's direction, "you're just in time." Scanning the grounds between them and the castle, she added, "I made sure no one realised where I was going."

Hermione nodded, checking her watch again. Within such a short distance of Avance―Cosette and Elias and the others who had sought to destroy their Order―she could feel the barely contained rage pulsing within her magic, pressing against her fingertips and seeping from her veins.

Clenching a fist, she stifled the magic that longed to break free and announced, "We'll cross the wards in three minutes."

They all knew the fastest route from this particular point on the grounds to the room where Avance held Glenneth; Hermione suspected she could have found her way in her sleep, even having spent only a short time within the castle.

And thanks to Cynthia, they knew the guard patrols that would seek to hinder their progress.

Boris would make quick work of any defending guards; she had seen it before.

While Draco had initially pressed for more guards to accompany their small group, it would have only served to increase the likelihood of their discovery. The most important element of their mission was to be invisible.

To that end, Boris cast numerous spells on each of them. Disillusionment charms, a tricky spell to silence their steps, and Confundus charms in case they were spotted.

Hermione felt the shiver of magic sweep from her head to her toes, eyes fluttering as her affiliation magic assessed the foreign signature.

She met the stares of each Ben, Boris, and Cynthia in turn; they looked watery and vague, a side effect of the combination of spells, but they all shared a nod.

Hermione blew out a breath, checked her watch once more, and whispered, "Let's go get our mage back."

Wands held aloft, they skirted the edge of the wards, Cynthia leading as they broke through. Hermione felt the shudder of the wards, and when she caught Boris' stare, he hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Clear."

Relief swept through her, but it was short lived as the castle rose up ahead of them. Breaching the wards undetected was the least of their worries, and the lesser of all the deadly obstacles they could face.

Crossing the grounds left Hermione feeling exposed, even though multiple guards had assured her the narrow, rolling path was beyond the eyes of Avance until guards expressly patrolled through it. And the next patrol wouldn't come that way for twenty minutes.

Slipping through one of the many passageways beyond the walls and into the castle itself was oddly disarming, considering they'd entered the enemy's territory. Hermione suppressed the fear that threatened at the edges of her vision, clenching her hands to steady the magic that pushed to escape.

Distantly she could feel the tendrils of Draco's magic entwining with her own, and she retreated into the back of her mind, hiding from her nerves and clinging to that small offering of support. In that moment, his presence with her felt like everything.

But it also signified that he had arrived in Italy, landing in the grove just beyond the wards.

Her heart rate jumped, the pressure implicit within her rising as well.

Everyone involved knew the stakes they faced, and as one they pressed on. With Cynthia's carefully curated information about the patrols, they knew when and where they would face Avance guards, and Boris was able to dispatch each one before they could even be noticed.

The situation would turn catastrophic if any guards were able to get out a warning.

Despite that they'd selected the nearest entrance, to Hermione it felt as if the walk took forever, each pulse of her heartbeat mocking her silent steps.

At last Cynthia breathed, "Through here."

It might have felt too easy but for their insider information, and Hermione watched as Boris slipped through the door in question and incapacitated four guards.

Hermione blew out a breath and drew in another through her nose, seeking to calm herself for what needed to be done.

Another long corridor wended deeper into the castle and came to an abrupt halt at the far end. Boris and Ben dropped several more guards, and Cynthia offered a stiff nod before they ventured into the larger room ahead.

Almost instantly, Hermione saw Glenneth. And although he lingered in the far corner, seated at a small round table with his back towards them, she could feel the hum of powerful magic.

No bars kept him which spoke either to the strength of the amulet he wore or the blind conceit of Avance.

Hermione suspected the former given Elias' suspicions about Glenneth's involvement in Tressel's death.

Which only increased the anxious rhythm of her heart, wariness an alarm bell in the back of her mind. If they were unconcerned with Glenneth walking free in this room, providing only a few guards, they must have believed him to be firmly on their side.

The entire plan hinged on Hermione's ability to destroy Glenneth's amulet.

And with the mage's loyalty restored, everything else could commence.

Reaching for Draco's magic, Hermione offered her thoughts into the tentative mind link that had begun to develop between them, hoping he would be near enough. _I have eyes on Glenneth_.

For a long, tense moment, she waited in silence for an answer. Glenneth either hadn't noticed their approach or didn't care to react as he continued staring at the wall. Idly, Hermione wondered whether he even had the wherewithal to think for himself or if the amulet dulled his mental capacity.

She exchanged a glance with Ben and Boris, offering a brief shake of the head. No response. Glancing towards her watch, she frowned. It was nearly time for Draco to connect to the greater Nocturnus mind link.

Hermione crept a step forward, allowing lunar magic to accumulate in her palm. The magic had strengthened so much in recent days it almost consistently sought to break free now. One guard walked at either side, wands aloft, and Cynthia lingered by the exit into the corridor as a lookout.

She fixed her intention, magic drifting free of her fingertips. Destroy the amulet―free Glenneth from Avance's hold.

Only a few steps remained between them and the mage, and Hermione cast Ben a sidelong glance, lips twisted with uncertainty. He offered an unsteady nod.

Hermione could see the thick, ornate chain around Glenneth's throat, but from behind she couldn't see the amulet. Allowing her magic to reach out, she took another step.

_Don't react_.

Draco's voice echoed through her head; each guard tensed, their expressions alert. Cynthia released a sharp gasp.

But searing pain ripped through Hermione's head, her stomach instantly churning with the strain on her magic. The tendrils of affiliation floating ahead of her faltered, dissipating into the air.

Hermione scrunched her eyes shut, forcing her attention onto Glenneth. The mage hadn't reacted; either the command hadn't reached the depths of his addled mind or it hadn't penetrated far enough. But Boris offered her a firm nod.

_This is the Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order_. _I repeat_―_do _not _react._

Magic rippled down her spine. She might have blown out a breath if her legs hadn't become so shaky, a cold sweat breaking out on her temples at the pressure on her magic. The link between them was more powerful than she could have ever imagined, but it meant their magic was inextricably connected.

Hermione had experienced a similar reaction when Draco had tested the mental link with the guards at the villa, but never had the magic affected her so greatly. The command now reached nearly ten times the amount of people here than they had been able to test with.

Clenching her teeth together to keep from crying out, Hermione dropped her face into her hand, her head throbbing harder than she could stand.

"Miss Amor," Ben whispered, grabbing hold of her arm as she swayed on the spot. "Are you alright?"

Her vision swam so much that she could scarcely see the look of concern on his face.

Draco's voice spoke in her mind again.

_Nocturnus Order_―_I seek your stolen allegiance. I free you from your forced loyalty to Avance. Join us once more, and we will end this war once and for all. Today we fight for truth_―_for justice_―_for the belief in something greater._

Despite the tears that broke of their own accord and raced down her cheeks, Hermione felt a frisson of pride. She could feel the tug of Draco's command through the link; saw the way Ben and Boris stood taller, their shoulders straighter.

Her knees buckled with the agony in her skull, and only Ben's grip on her arm kept her upright.

Glenneth turned in his seat, rising at last to his feet. His usually jovial blue eyes were empty, fathomless. Not a shred of recognition remained in his glassy stare as he gazed upon the three of them. Magic emanated from within him, pulsing into the air between them.

No one knew where the depth of the mage powers had come from; it was nothing like the affiliation magic, but leagues ahead of what most spellcasters could summon.

The trivial recollection Draco had once shared kept Hermione's brain focused on the task ahead.

But her magic sputtered at her fingertips, the strain of Draco's utilisation of the command having drawn from her and drained her almost entirely.

She could see the amulet at last, a deep golden gemstone resting against Glenneth's black robes. They had dressed him in Avance colours, and the thought of it crept through her like revulsion.

Biting down hard on her bottom lip, Hermione reached deep within herself, searching for what remained of the affiliation. Her fingers warmed with the faint sparks of magic, and sucking in a deep breath, Hermione sought to banish the pain that still pulsed through her, threatening to drag her under.

"We're here to rescue you, Glenneth," she whispered, the mage still staring blankly at her as she rubbed her fingertips together, reaching deeper still for the scraps that hovered at the edges of her core.

She could feel Draco's magic nudge her own; soft, apologetic.

As if he could feel the costly impact his magic had on her. In the strength required to obliterate Cosette's hold on the Order.

Grasping onto the offering, she pulled from the bonds between them, deeper and deeper into her magic, into Draco's magic, and at last Hermione felt the affiliation begin to build once more. She could feel its innate healing powers begin to mend the strain, her vision clearing as her legs strengthened once more.

But Glenneth raised a hand, his ominous stare fixed directly on her. Ben's wand faltered in her periphery, and Hermione shook her head with a hissed, "Don't."

Destroy the amulet―free Glenneth.

The mage began to chant in Latin, his expression devoid of emotion. Hermione had no doubt what would befall all of them if he had the time to complete the enchantment. Her heart rate spiked as she gathered still more magic into her palm, strengthening with the clarity returning to her mind.

But they had lost precious seconds.

"Get back," Hermione said, and when neither guard reacted, she huffed, "it wasn't a suggestion."

As if driven by her words, Ben and Boris each faltered a step back, their jaws clenched.

Hermione stepped forward, fear racing through her as Glenneth chanted, his gaze firm on her face even as she lifted a hand, glowing with the raw lunar power that she had managed to accumulate, each strand of it hard fought.

She could only hope it would be enough.

_Destroy the amulet_.

Glenneth's magic swirled around her, prickling across her skin as she released her own power with a sharp curl of her wrist.

Tension hung in the air in the fraught moments that followed, time itself shuddering to a momentary halt as her magic collided with Glenneth's. A shockwave rippled through the room, knocking Ben, Boris, and Cynthia to the floor.

And still Hermione pressed on, funnelling her magic―Draco's magic as it spooled through her like thread―into the golden gemstone that imprisoned Glenneth within his own mind.

She could feel his enchantment in turn, a gust of wind sweeping through the room with the cacophony of the exchange, and she had no doubt that if she were the first to relent, his magic would claim her life.

Her eyes fluttered shut, the strain of the magic once more pulsing against her temples, but she only redoubled her efforts, pushing back against the grotesque, ancient magic, twisted and cold against her own.

Tears broke from her closed eyes, and Hermione delved still deeper, drawing mere ghostly wisps from within her core. With a great cry she twisted her wrist, throwing all that remained of the affiliation into severing the magic that fought back against her own.

The silence that followed hung in the air as she dragged her eyes open, the effort of remaining on her feet almost more than she could handle. As she stumbled back she collapsed into a pair of arms, feeling Boris set her upright once more.

And she watched, her heart throbbing dully in her chest, while the golden gemstone flickered.

The light from within it dulled.

Boris' hand was a welcome support on her shoulder, her eyelids drooping, even as she felt cool threads of Draco's magic coil around her like a shield.

The gemstone shattered, its pieces clattering to the ground between them with soft clinks. Hermione sucked in a deep, measured breath, coming back into herself as Draco's magic bolstered her spent core.

Tears leaked from Glenneth's bright blue eyes before he sunk into a deep bow.

Relief swelled through every fibre of Hermione's being, the tension sinking from her shoulders.

"Lunae Amor," Glenneth gasped, rising at last to meet her stare. His cheeks were damp, contrition bare in his eyes as his wizened hands hung at his sides. "I―"

"It's okay," Hermione whispered, stepping towards the mage to draw him into an embrace. When she pulled away, she could see the despair, the shame and misery, on the old man's face. She only said again, "It's alright, Glenneth. You're back with us now."

Ben cleared his throat, and Boris reached around Hermione to clap his fellow guard on the back.

But Glenneth still frowned. "The Lunae Ortus―"

"Is alive," Ben said, offering a brisk nod.

Relief swept through Glenneth's face as he sagged into himself, his eyes pressing shut. Quietly, he said, "I will carry this shame for the rest of my life."

"Please don't," Hermione said, a hint of a smile at last tugging at her lips. "All we ask is that you help us set things right. We're here to take back Nocturnus."

Determination replaced sorrow, and the man nodded, clutching a hand to his heart. "I will do whatever you ask of me."

Cynthia rushed back over towards them, her expression fearful. "Someone's coming."

Snapping back to attention, Ben and Boris lifted their wands; almost entirely spent of her magic as it slowly began to accumulate once more, Hermione hung back.

Footfalls grew nearer down the corridor, and she instinctively gathered magic in the tips of her fingers as a man appeared in the entrance into the room.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, before any of them could cast a spell. The man wore Avance robes, a wand dangling limply from his fingertips. He threw the wand into the room, and it skittered off the tiles before landing near Hermione's feet. Raising his hands in supplication, he ducked his shoulders.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, brow knitting. Boris collected the wand with a frown.

The man's deep brown eyes met her own; he spoke in a thick Italian accent. "Bergen is a madman; I'm with you if Nocturnus can get me out of this damn castle."

Hermione sucked in a quick breath.

She glanced towards Ben, whose wand was still trained on the Avance man, then to Cynthia, who only shook her head.

Draco's voice echoed in her head. _Are we all clear to proceed?_

_Yes_. _We've got Glenneth_. Her own voice echoed off the link between them, and she felt Draco's magic nudge her own in response. There would be time to share details later, but now wasn't it.

"Fine," she breathed, snapping her attention back to Ben. "Keep an eye on him, and if he does anything, don't hesitate―we've got to go."

The Avance man's chin ducked into a nod.

Mind whirling and fingertips pulsing, Hermione followed the small group from the room, Glenneth at her tail.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for reading! Next chapter is a big one. I hope you enjoyed xoxo

Alpha hugs to Kyonomiko and beta kisses to ravenslight.


	54. Chapter 54

A cumbersome breath snagged in Draco's throat. Something had gone wrong; he didn't need verbal confirmation to realise that Hermione's magic had faltered. Dread had lurched through him when he felt Hermione's grip on the affiliation loosen.

Like a coil of rope tied to an anvil and thrown over a cliff.

She had barely managed to hold what remained before Draco was able to step in with steadying support.

But the absolute terror that had taken him…

Draco pressed his eyes shut, blowing out a long breath. He reached deep into himself for strength, for courage. The courage he knew he had learned from Hermione.

They'd rescued Glenneth; one of the biggest steps was complete, and soon he would be able to see her again, search the warmth in her eyes. And together―_together_ they would end this.

On either side of him stood Hugo and Dagomir, the two upon whom he had come to rely the most outside of his wife. At his back was the bulk of the Nocturnus Guard, majestic in their battle gear.

Small patrols had been dispersed to strategic points along the boundaries of the wards.

But Glenneth was on their side again, and any moment now…

Draco released a coil of magic into the bond with Hermione, teasing against her magic; he felt her own nudge his in return, and relief swept through him once again that she was alright.

Her thoughts came through the link a few seconds later. _Glenneth is working on the wards_.

Soon.

He had felt the might of the command as it swept across the castle grounds, had seen the way the magic of it straightened the spines of his comrades. And instinctively, Draco knew the command had reached into the hearts and minds of Nocturnus, shattering Cosette's hold.

But the magical cost had been astronomical; they hadn't anticipated the mental and magical drain that had recoiled into Hermione's core. A flicker of shame chased through him; if he had _hurt her_―

There wasn't time for such considerations on a battlefield.

And despite the calm that lingered on the grounds, the sun cresting the horizon and warming the dewy world before him, Draco knew it wouldn't remain so for much longer.

Nocturnus had arrived today with one purpose: to reclaim what was theirs. To put an end to the chaos.

Draco could feel it in the crackle of magic all around him.

The rest of the Nocturnus Order―their friends, family, and others who had taken up the cause along the way―waited on the signal. Their numbers weren't nearly enough to mount an attack on Avance but for the advantages they sought to gain.

But the way everyone had rallied despite the many challenges they'd faced left Draco feeling humbled and more determined than ever.

The wards ahead of them faltered, magic prickling along his skin as it swept away.

Hermione reached into the link once more. _The wards are down. Proceed with phase two._

Blowing out a breath, Draco nodded. "Phase two," he murmured, barreling into his magic to access the command again. Dagomir lifted his wand with a series of intricate twists: a signal to the host of guards behind them.

Draco's usage of the affiliation for such an intense purpose had damaged Hermione's, and despite that he'd broken through Cosette's hold the first time, he wasn't willing to take any chances. Carefully, Draco unspooled several strands of his own magic into the bond, seeking to reinforce Hermione's affiliation against what was to come.

Her magic caressed his in return, the feel of it heady.

Draco sucked in a breath, tunnelling deeper into the lunar magic within. He felt it rise to the surface and break free of his palms, hovering in the air around him.

He met Dagomir's stare; the man offered a single, clipped nod.

Draco's eyes fluttered shut as he accessed the command.

_Nocturnus Order. The wards are down, and it's time. We ask you to join us, and we will reclaim what is ours. Today, we will stand together again. _Draco blew out a breath, his thoughts failing him. _I call you to rise to this task, and humbly I seek your help. Please, join us now. Today marks the end for Avance_―_and a new beginning for Nocturnus._

Hugo's fingers curled around Draco's shoulder in an offering of strength. Disengaging from the link, Draco blinked his eyes open.

The grounds remained quiet, a beautiful sunrise spreading across the rolling Tuscan hills.

He delved back into the bond with Hermione. _Where are you?_

_En route_, came her response, a little breathy. _We hit a slight snag_.

Draco frowned, about to send another response through when he felt the link disengage. She hadn't sounded particularly distraught, and he let the thought steady the sudden spike in his heart rate. "They're on their way."

"Good," said Dagomir, his shoulders back and gaze alert.

Despite everything they had done to prepare, the raw truth of the matter was that they still faced war. And not one but two people in possession of the lunar affiliation. Two ruthless, hateful people.

Draco's gaze flickered first to Hugo then to Dagomir, and he forced a swallow. Each had become like a brother to him―and the guards around them, family.

It went so much deeper than ancient orders and formal oaths.

This was about protecting the people who had helped him get to this point. And Draco knew they couldn't stand to fail; too much was at stake, too many lives in the balance.

He felt Hermione's magic before he saw her, and relief swelled in his heart as she approached with Boris and Glenneth. But before he could speak, his mouth fell open.

Four individuals―two men and two women―in Avance robes followed, and with a burst of fury, Draco's magic built in his hand, preparing to unleash. But Ben and Cynthia walked with them, and his magic quieted with his confusion.

Draco paced a step forward, across the border that had once delineated Avance's wards. "What is this?" he asked, and he watched the eyes of the four Avance widen in surprise.

Hermione released a frustrated huff, and the banality of it almost caused Draco's lips to twitch.

But Ben was the one to answer. "They've yielded, Lunae. Said they'll fight alongside Nocturnus if we let them leave afterwards." His gaze flickered towards Hugo. "Sounds like Bergen's made Cosette some enemies from within her own ranks."

Even in the warm morning light, Hugo visibly paled, his expression stoic. Draco tore his attention back to the strangers. "Why?"

"Elias has threatened us," one of the women said, "and has attacked others."

Releasing an aggravated sigh, Draco scrubbed a hand along his jaw. "Fine. If you want to fight against Avance, you're free to do so. But if you even _think_ about turning your wands on Nocturnus, any one of these fine guards behind me will drop you faster than you can blink."

Four sets of wide eyes darted to the intimidating host just beyond. But the man nearest Draco only ducked his head into a bow. "Thank you, Lunae Ortus."

As their unexpected allies quickly altered the colour of their clothing―Draco couldn't blame them if they wanted to survive against any Nocturnus―he turned towards Glenneth, warmth accumulating in his throat and behind his eyes.

The mage, despite his age, stood several inches taller than Draco; Glenneth's blue eyes shone as they locked onto Draco's, and the man dropped into a deep bow.

"You must know," Glenneth said softly when he rose to his full height once more, "I deeply regret my role in all of this."

Draco could still remember the anguish in Glenneth's stare when Avance had forced him to wrench the affiliation free of Draco's own natural core. He only nodded with a thin press of his lips.

"I know," Draco said, clapping the man on the arm. "It wasn't your fault. All that matters now is what happens today."

"Yes, Lunae Ortus," Glenneth murmured. His lips curled with the faintest of smiles. "Thank you for rescuing me. I cannot say I looked forward to being sequestered in the Nocturnus dungeons."

"We weren't going to let that happen," Draco quipped.

As the mage drifted towards the guards and council, Draco turned to Hermione. There were so many things he deeply desired to say but there wasn't time.

Her fingers grazed the mark on his wrist, and his eyes fluttered at the feel of it, his magic entwining with hers. He planted a soft kiss to her temple, allowing a quick breath to simply exist.

Because he knew any moment now…

And indeed, they didn't have long to wait. In the distance he spotted a few people walking, followed by more, and then _dozens_. His heart leapt with an anxious rhythm in his chest when over a distant hill, hundreds of people strode forward clad in midnight blue battle leathers.

Magic danced at his fingertips, blurring the periphery of his vision as he watched the mass grow steadily nearer. A soft smile lingered on Hermione's lips, as if she'd never had a doubt.

"It worked," Hugo huffed at his side.

Draco elbowed him in the ribs. "You thought it _wouldn't_?" He hesitated for a moment, chuckling as he added, "And yet you still gave me that journal?"

Hugo's cheeks flushed a dull pink.

As the people still streamed over the hills towards them, as if following the magic of the command that had sought their attention, Hermione's fingers slipped between his own. Draco sucked in a breath, drawing courage from her hold.

The first wave of people approached, eyes sparkling and hope in their faces. A murmur of excitement broke out as they bent in recognition, some dropping to their knees entirely.

"Please stand," Draco said, suppressing the emotion that threatened. "You're free once more, my friends."

And as the lines of Nocturnus only grew and grew, extending back towards the castle, Draco felt a smile tug at his lips.

Just as the first wave of spellfire broke out in the distance.

They had never expected to rescue some fifteen hundred Nocturnus fighters without drawing Avance's attention. Draco cast a glance towards Dagomir, who checked his watch and nodded.

In fact, they sought Avance's eye. As soon as Elias and Cosette realised what had happened―that they'd freed not only the Nocturnus fighters trapped in the castle and on the grounds, but Glenneth as well―Draco fully expected them to make an appearance.

They'd bet on it.

At Dagomir's command, guards dispersed into the crowd, formulating groups of fighters to coordinate at strategic locations arranged ahead of time. Although they had the advantage in numbers, they had gathered on the grounds, drawing the fight down this time.

Most of the remaining Avance forces had moved into the fields surrounding the high stone walls, but some sharpshooting spellcasters fired from within the battlements. If everything went according to plan, they would retake the castle before the day was through with sheer force.

Draco turned towards Dagomir and gave a nod. The man tapped a message into his magical galleon, and within moments the newest members of Nocturnus―their friends and family―materialised on the grounds behind them.

A flash of black blurred Draco's vision as Potter dashed forward to briefly embrace Hermione, wand at the ready. Draco clapped him on the back, lost for words in the moment when Potter's green eyes found his.

"Thanks for coming, Potter," Draco said quietly. The man offered a nod before venturing into the mass, a group of their friends chasing along after him. Draco caught Theo's eye with a shared grimace, but there wasn't time to speak.

As fighting broke out in earnest all around them, Draco swallowed. Magic accumulated in his palms.

They'd caught Avance off guard this time, but he didn't doubt they would have some more dirty tricks up their sleeves; he frowned, recalling the way they had decimated the Nocturnus fortress with their explosives.

Hermione's fingers coiled around his, spurring his magic to flare alive within him; he caught her stare for a moment, the warmth in her eyes bolstering his waning courage.

Dagomir and Hugo lingered nearby, and as Draco offered a stuttering nod, they moved into the fray.

* * *

Fatigue tugged at the edges of Draco's magical core, but still the affiliation poured forth from his palms.

Hermione had fought bravely nearby, eclipsing the enemies that made it through the mob towards them, fire in her eyes. Any Avance who had seen her usage of the affiliation hadn't made it far.

So many Nocturnus were on their side again, but Avance fighters poured from the castle in droves even now. He couldn't rationalise the idea of hundreds of people; _thousands_ of people, fighting for their lives.

The battle felt nothing alike the one before but all too similar.

The cries and screams of the fallen; the zing of constant spellfire blazing through the air with a myriad of colours that might have been beautiful.

Draco wondered if he would ever feel clean again.

To his left, Dagomir tore through their enemies with relentless accuracy; the fury burning in Hugo's stare had rendered the man almost unrecognisable from his usual jovial self. Draco felt a sting of despair at the thought of it.

And still war raged on.

Still, fighters dropped, never to stand again. Nocturnus healers raced through the throngs, shooting up white sparks and saving those few they could.

It was warfare like Draco had never experienced, raw on the ground; sweat and grime coated his face and hands even as the wild power of the affiliation still pushed forth from his hands.

As they fought, he knew teams of guards led fighters towards the castle, seeking to break through the walls and surge inwards.

Draco wasn't surprised that they hadn't seen Elias or Cosette, but he _was _unnerved. He hadn't been shocked Cosette hadn't been willing to get her hands dirty with her people before, and he wasn't now either.

If they were lucky, the castle would still stand after the inevitable altercation to come.

Fear gripped his heart as he watched his friends fight on. The council; the guards; their friends. And all the other members of the Order he had sworn to protect with his Ascension. Those who had been imprisoned by their enemies and now fought for their own freedom.

His heart thrummed in his chest, racing an anxious rhythm as he gazed on. As the magic flew from his palms, almost of its own accord.

He watched as Hermione was drawn into a fight, instinctively stuttering a step forward, but the man was down with a flash of white light. The pain on her face was carefully hidden in the set of her mouth, but he felt it within his soul, with each life they were forced to take.

It felt as if the world around him swirled in a mass of chaos, refusing to make sense.

Six months ago, he never could have dreamed this up.

"_LUNAE ORTUS_!"

Draco jolted to attention, whirling on the spot; his eyes widened in surprise, his hand lifting on instinct.

But three Avance fighters were nearly upon him, their wands extended and curses on their lips. With a grimace, Draco felt the magic build in his palm, initiated a rapid twist of his wrist―

One of the fighters dropped, an arrow protruding squarely from his chest; shortly after, the others followed, blood pooling in the grass at his feet. Spellfire whizzed past from every direction as his eyes drifted up.

Draco choked a thick swallow, his hand still frozen mid-twist. His jaw dropped.

Standing before him were Fletcher, Willow, and Juniper. War paint adorned their cheeks, hair tied back in windblown plaits, longbows in their hands.

A harsh breath chased from his lips.

Behind them was the rest of their pack, dozens of centaurs geared for war and ready to fight. Draco caught Firenze's bright stare with a swallow. He approached Fletcher, dipping his head into a bow as he formed a fist across his heart.

"Thank you for coming," he said quietly.

Fletcher responded in turn, hand over his heart, and the rest of the centaurs followed suit. The centaur's blue stare shone as he said, "Thank _you_. Your efforts in France did not go unnoticed or unappreciated."

Draco only shook his head, his heart clenching in his chest. "But how did you―"

Then he saw Claude Arcand, a soft smile on his face, and comprehension dawned in the back of Draco's mind. Wonder chased through him, and he felt a grin tug at his lips despite the situation. But when Arcand's head dropped into a tilt behind him, Draco scanned the crowd beyond the herd of centaurs.

Battle raged on ahead of them towards the castle, but here at the periphery, his heart skipped a beat. Gooseflesh broke out across his skin.

The werewolves from Marseilles; the coven of vampires they had met with in Bordeaux. He even recognised a few of the magical creature activists they had met with. All stood on the grounds of the Nocturnus Castle, ready to fight.

Draco felt a traitorous stinging of warmth creeping up his throat and moisture at the backs of his eyes. Hermione came up alongside him, her hand warm with the magic of the affiliation as her fingers grazed his arm. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed upon the creature populations that had come all the way from France to join in a fight that had nothing to do with them.

Eyeing them all, she said, "Thank you for your support today."

"Thank you, Lunae Ortus and Lunae Amor." Firenze spoke, his chin high; a quiet echo followed from the creatures assembled. "With your aid, France is once again prosperous for magical creatures of all types. Today we have come to demonstrate our gratitude."

Hermione's fingers tightened against his arm, and Draco planted a hand to her back as he said, "We are forever grateful for your assistance."

A roguish grin spread across Fletcher's face as he swiped an arrow from the quiver strapped across his back, slinging it into his bow with expert precision. "And now we fight."

With a great battle cry, the centaurs launched themselves into the fray, the vampires and werewolves following suit. Draco caught Arcand as he walked by and clapped a hand to the man's shoulder.

Arcand offered a sheepish smile, brandishing his own wand. "It felt like the least I could do."

Eyeing him for a moment, Draco nodded. Then he smirked. "I can't believe you invited the vampires."

With a sparkle to his stare, Arcand said, "It's not as if they can be killed, Lunae." Then he brushed Draco's shoulder with his own as he followed the mob of magical creatures into battle.

Draco blew out a breath, meeting Hermione's eye. "Any sign of them?"

"Not yet." Her lips fell into a scowl. "We're pressing on with the siege of the castle; Nocturnus has nearly breached the walls. If Elias and Cosette won't come out―"

"They'll come out," Draco said, dark fury building within him. "Cosette thought I was dead and you were in hiding, remember?" Across a stretch of the field, several bodies strewn across it, Draco caught Hugo's stare.

The man approached, filthy and a little out of breath. Although he still wore his great-grandfather's sword, he clenched his wand in white knuckles. "Was that a herd of centaurs I just saw?"

Huffing a laugh, Draco nodded. "Apparently Arcand dug around a bit in France for help."

Hugo clicked his tongue and gave a bit of a snicker. "Interesting. The man's got bollocks to ask centaurs to fight in a war between humans." The amusement fell from his face almost immediately though, replaced with a grim twist of his lips. "We're heading in."

Draco gazed towards the castle, squinting a little in the bright flare of sunlight sitting just above the horizon. "Yeah," he murmured, glancing towards his adviser. "Are you alright?"

"I have to be." The words didn't reach his eyes or the slump to his shoulders, but Hugo drew in a deep breath. "I've known what has to happen for months now. It just doesn't make the moment now any easier."

The mass of people surged still onwards, the sheer numbers of Nocturnus fighters overpowering their Avance counterparts from what Draco could see.

But still, his heart was heavy with despair. So many had already fallen across the grounds ahead.

There was more to come, he knew. Avance wouldn't go down this easily without mounting a significant fight in return.

And he could sense in his companions an awareness of the same.

They moved steadily onwards, and Draco spotted Dagomir's grim face moments before the Head of the Guard was upon them. "We may have a problem," he said by way of greeting.

Hugo snickered. "Why am I not surprised?"

Dagomir hissed, bringing the small group of them to a halt. He glanced around, his wand at the ready; Draco could see a handful of guards waiting around them for any Avance stragglers who might seek to attack.

"Avance weren't defeated—not all of them." When Draco frowned, opening his mouth, the man added, "They surrendered."

Draco blinked in surprise, the skin between his brows knitting. But before he could make sense of why it was a bad thing, Hermione spoke.

"Because of Elias?" The question hung between them, and Hugo shifted in Draco's periphery. "It seems his methods have made waves with Avance."

As comprehension settled, Draco frowned. "This could work in our favour though. If Cosette and Elias are at odds." Not only had Elias driven Avance into internal strife, to the point where they were willing to jump from a sinking ship and barter their freedom with Nocturnus, but likely he'd driven a wedge between himself and Cosette. Even as he spoke the words, Dagomir's warning rang true.

"It could," Dagomir allowed, "but they will be reckless. We have yet to see either of them while their forces have fought for them." His chin dropped, expression stern. "You _must_ be careful. We do not know what yet lies in store."

Dagomir's warning released bells pealing in the back of his mind, his blood running cold. The war chief wasn't the type to monger fear, and his concern struck genuine.

Of course, Draco had feared the worst was still ahead of them. Avance was outnumbered by Nocturnus—they always had been—but Avance had sought to play dirty in exchange.

He didn't suspect anything to be different today.

Far ahead, guards led surges into the castle walls, laying siege to the fortress they meant to claim as their own once more and sweeping for Avance fighters hiding within. Damages could be repaired; Merlin knew the Nocturnus Castle had seen its share of battles before. The ancient foundation was likely sentient enough to defend and mend itself.

Sucking in a deep breath, Draco gathered magical strength to his fingertips, drawing comfort from the bond with Hermione as he crossed the threshold of the walls into the courtyard beyond.

What he had expected to see, he wasn't certain.

The earliest waves of Nocturnus must have pressed onwards into the fortification itself. If Dagomir was right and the majority of Avance's forces had either been defeated or surrendered, they still had the advantage in numbers.

Aside from whatever remained of Avance's council and guard.

They would need to defeat both Cosette and Elias, and Draco's mind held little uncertainty as to the manner of that defeat. But a flicker of hope flared within the recesses of his heart; they had come so far.

Several things happened at once.

Only steps ahead of Draco's feet, the ground erupted with a blinding flash of light, sending Nocturnus' forces flying in all directions. Swaths of fighters fell to the sides, screams erupting in the air along with mournful cries.

Reams of Avance poured forward, spells firing into the Nocturnus forces and engaging another chaotic fight.

Draco ought to have known that Cosette would withhold more forces to protect her directly. They had seen it before, when she had allowed her fighters to die for her at the fortress. He released a snarl low in his throat.

Dagomir leapt in front of Draco and Hermione, throwing up a massive shield within moments. A small contingent of guards assembled, and Glenneth rushed up alongside them; Draco hadn't seen him since the fighting had started.

He could scarcely see over the rapid casting of spells between the Avance and Nocturnus guards. Slowly, Nocturnus began to gain ground once more, advancing further into the courtyard.

His eyes darted rapidly, seeking. At last he saw them atop the battlements, fury coursing with the pulse of blood through his heart. Affiliation flared from each of his palms as he strode towards the edge of Dagomir's shield, feeling as much as seeing Hermione at his side.

For Draco saw only red.

Cosette and Elias descended from the battlements, leaping into the air and landing in the courtyard in front of the castle proper, blocking their passage in.

A mocking smirk curled Cosette's lips, her stare reviling as she took in first him and then Hermione. She held up her hands, as if to announce her presence. "Impressive, Draco Malfoy."

His lip curled.

But Cosette went on, her tone irreverent and casual. Draco wanted to blow her into bits.

"Imagine our surprise, having believed you to be dead. But yet, here you are—and with the affiliation once more." Her stare darkened. "We won't make that same mistake again."

Draco's eyes flickered towards Dagomir, whose gaze carried a heaviness Draco couldn't quite read.

Although he could feel Hermione's magic nudging his core, entwining and fortifying his own, she hadn't revealed her own possession of the affiliation yet. Draco fought the smirk that threatened; they would be in for another surprise soon.

Flickering his brows in mild distaste, Draco drawled, "I suppose you ought to have made sure you killed me then. Because now we're here to take back our castle. And _you_ happen to be in the way."

He let a haze of magic drift free, hovering in the air around his friends and council, seeking to protect them. The slight falter in Cosette's expression bolstered his courage.

For the first time, Draco allowed his attention to drift towards Elias, his eyes dead and face stony.

The man only stood with his fists clenched, no magic to be seen. Elias' curious silence unnerved him, and Draco forced a disinterested affectation into the words as he said, "Why?"

Elias clenched his jaw, eyes flashing. "You never deserved Nocturnus or the affiliation. Even now."

"So you thought you'd just—" Draco waved an idle hand, letting magic flare from his fingertips "—betray your Order and take it for yourself."

"The Lunae Ortus is twice the leader you will _ever_ be." Hugo stepped forward, barely-contained fury in his face.

Elias didn't flinch.

"Tell me, Elias," Draco ground out, releasing some of his irreverence. "Because I'm so curious—what did she offer you? What could possibly have been worth betraying your lifelong oaths?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione asked, her magic coiling still further around his own; it occurred to Draco she was funnelling her half of the affiliation into his in case he needed to use it. As the only one displaying the lunar magic, he would be their target.

His brilliant witch.

"She promised him the magic he so desired for himself," Hermione went on, a knit between her brows. "But due to the Nocturnus lines, he would never harness the affiliation. The House of Bergen was second in line to the throne, but a Bergen could never Ascend while a Malfoy lived. You needed to bring the affiliation back in order for him to have a shot at claiming it."

A deep scowl sunk into Bergen's face. Without warning, he released a growl, firing a bolt of pure affiliation magic straight towards Hermione's heart.

Dagomir's shield fell away as if composed of dust, but Draco's own magic flared, just quick enough to stifle Elias'.

The two bursts collided with a flare of light before vanishing.

Hermione released a tight huff of breath, the only indication she gave to the fact that she might have been obliterated.

Little by little, Draco sunk deeper into his own core, drawing more of his magic forward. He tangled the threads of his own magic into Hermione's, seeking to strengthen hers in the same way she did for him. The fibres entwined, and as he carried on with the meticulous work, unable to tell where his magic ended and hers began, she spoke again.

"But what Elias didn't realise," she said, the words ringing in the air between them, "is that the affiliation values _loyalty_. Respect and trust. _Love_."

Elias sneered, drawing another ball of power to his palm. "You know nothing of what the affiliation claims."

A faint smile tugged at Hermione's lips; Draco's heart rattled in his chest, his awareness of her complete and overwhelming. She whispered, "And you know nothing of its strength."

Cosette scoffed loudly, irritation flashing across her face. "I've had enough of this." She drew power into her own palm, the base power of the affiliation. "You might think you can seize back your Order, reclaim your mage—but you can't defeat us."

"No?" Draco asked, levelling her with a hard stare. "It seems to me you're alone. Elias has driven out many of your most faithful with his tyrannical ways, and _you_—" He shook his head. "You're playing with magic that was never meant to be yours in the first place."

Still, his magic swept through Hermione's core and back, building his own power and hers. His great-grandfather's ring warmed on his finger as it struggled to contain the great swell of magic rising within him.

He turned back towards Cosette with a wry smirk. "You haven't told us why _you're_ doing all of this."

Mocking his derision, she said, "Isn't my hatred for Nocturnus obvious?"

Draco dropped his head into a tilt. "Sure, I suppose it is. But you've sacrificed _hundreds_ of lives, and for what? To sit around in _our_ castle and play magic with your new friend Elias?"

Anger flashed in Cosette's eyes, and at last her facetious facade fell.

Through clenched teeth she snapped, "Nocturnus _ruined_ my family. Through a centuries old bloodline curse, I would lose my magic, like my mother and grandmother before me. But instead—" She lifted a hand, shooting a flare of magic into the sky. "I'll have magic greater than ever. And by claiming the affiliation for myself _and_ by killing the last living heir to Nocturnus, I'll stifle your pathetic Order forever."

His eyes drifted to meet Hermione's at the revelation. His nerves vibrated with the strength of the magic growing within him, and he clenched his hands into fists.

Cosette released the affiliation directly towards them; prepared for such a thing, Draco swept a hand through the air, sending her magic ricocheting into the wall. Stone exploded and collapsed with a cloud of dust breaking into the air.

Still, Nocturnus guards withheld the spells of the Avance guards along the edges of his vision.

"Do not believe," Cosette hissed, "that I will _allow_ Elias to drive my Order away. I do not tolerate insolence, and I will not have my leadership questioned."

With a snap of her wrist, several Avance guards stormed free of the castle, dragging a girl between them.

Draco felt each dull thud of his heart in his chest even as Hugo's pained roar echoed in the back of his mind.

Arms and legs bound, an invisible gag stifling her cries, the guards threw Cynthia Bergen at Cosette's feet. The woman's eyes were cold as she spat, "And I do not tolerate traitors."

Adrenaline leapt to life in Draco's veins. In his periphery, he saw Ben step forward with a cry, wand aloft, before a flare of Cosette's magic threw him into the wall; the man crumpled to the ground. Draco's eyes could only linger for a second.

Elias merely stared at his daughter, but Draco could see the falter in his expression. He merely said, "You betrayed us?"

Cynthia scowled up at each of them, her hard stare lingering on the father that had forsaken her and her brother for power. "I did not betray you—_you_ were the one to betray Nocturnus after raising us for its cause."

Draco fired a burst of magic at one of the guards who held her; the man fell lifeless to the stone. Fury coursed through him, magic unrelenting and growing unstable.

He could feel Hugo's shuddering breaths at his other side. The man said quietly, "_Please_, Lunae."

Draco's eyes flitted again to Ben, unmoving on the ground.

Then he sought Glenneth's stare, the mage's clear blue eyes ice cold. Draco's magic clenched Hermione's against his own.

"Don't do it," Elias said at last, drawing his own magic as he turned on Cosette. But the woman only scowled in return, and with a flick of her wrist, pure magic flew from her hand, barrelling straight towards Cynthia, helpless on the ground between them.

Tension hung in the air but for Hugo's sharp intake of breath.

Draco leapt forward out of rank, his carefully aimed spear of magic skewering Cosette's; it burst in the air before falling away with a shower of white sparks into Cynthia's hair while tears poured down her cheeks.

Exposed to the Avance guards who still lingered, Draco waved a shimmering hand to deflect the sudden barrage of spellfire flying at him from all directions. Coloured beams of light streamed at him while the guards behind engaged once more.

But Elias only growled, drawing an incredible flare of magic forward and firing it at Cosette. She deflected with her own, a great crash of magic.

Fury blazed in Elias' eyes, and he drew into his power again, releasing it from his palms.

Draco watched as the magic grew and grew, curling into a spiral in the air above him, dulling and darkening into a pale grey. He watched on, a breath caught in his throat, uncertain where to turn or who to attack.

With so much volatile magic in play, any missteps could result in lives being lost as collateral damage. And they weren't willing to sacrifice any more lives.

But Glenneth chanted, his words quiet as his magic swelled into a powerful enchantment.

Still Elias' magic strengthened even as it darkened further into a stormy grey; his eyes flashed as magic poured from within himself, charcoal now and nearing pitch.

Glenneth's enchantment flew forward, and Draco watched as terror crested Elias' face.

In Draco's ear, Dagomir said, "The broken oaths have corrupted his magic." When Draco cast him a glance, Dagomir gave a grimace and added, "And Glenneth is drawing it from him like poison, turning his own magic against him."

Hermione swallowed thickly, her face sickly and pale.

Draco scrounged up only an ounce of pity, having felt the agony of magic being ripped from one's core. While all attention was on Elias, Draco carefully measured the situation. Their group was council and a small contingent of guards. Fallen Nocturnus lay against the walls from Cosette's initial blast of magic and the waves of fighting that had followed.

His heart mourned, but it wasn't yet the time.

Most of the remaining Avance fighters had fallen at last.

He allowed his magic to creep into the stone beneath his feet, seeping along the cobbles and protecting each of his friends who still stood.

An agonised cry escaped from Elias, magic still breaking from within him with a great rending tear, black as night. Hugo curled a hand around Draco's shoulder—whether in seeking support or in holding himself back, Draco didn't know. But he clapped a hand atop Hugo's, infusing strength and reassurance into the magic that emanated from his palm.

Under his breath, he said, "We're going to get Cynthia back. And we're going to bury Cosette."

The great swirl of corrupted magic twisted within the courtyard, gusting through the air, and Draco felt a flicker of fear as he strengthened his own magical shields.

Until the magic eclipsed Elias; strength depleted, he collapsed to the ground. The man's eyes fluttered, alike to Hugo's in colour and shape but so calculating and cold in a way Hugo could never be.

Elias huffed a breath, and, so quietly Draco wasn't certain if he'd heard him correctly, Elias choked his son's name.

Silent tears broke from Hugo's eyes as he stared, unblinking, watching his father's magic and strength slip away. He only stared, red-eyed, mouth hanging open in shock. His white-knuckled fingers curled around Draco's shoulder had become a vise.

Cynthia released a great sob at the sight of her father's immobile form, frail against the cobbles, and the sound of it drew Draco back to the present.

Cosette's magic flared, as if bolstered by Elias' demise—as if she had reclaimed his portion of the magic—and light burst free of her palms, breaking into the sky above them. Her face showed no remorse for the loss of her partner; Draco wondered whether she had ever cared about him or if he was just a means to an end.

The smallest twinge of pity crept through him. If not for Elias, then for Hugo and Cynthia, who had looked up to their father for so long.

Cosette had always been their truest enemy, and in her deadened eyes, he knew she had grown stronger than ever.

Before she could turn her magic on Cynthia, still bound and prone on the ground before her, Draco sent a burst of the affiliation towards the girl, drawing her in a cocoon of magic out of harm's way and melting her bonds.

But Draco could feel more than see the moment when Cosette swivelled away from Cynthia towards him. Awareness raced through him, pure and raw, at the bolt of magic careening straight at him across the courtyard.

His magic preoccupied with recovering Cynthia, a flash of fear swept through him. And Draco froze as he swung one hand out, a grimace tugging at his mouth. He would be too late.

Hermione lunged forward, her magic tugging at his own, and he wrenched his eyes to her just in time to see a flare of magic unlike anything he'd ever seen fly forth from her palms.

The affiliation that burst free was so bright, so powerful, it was enough to momentarily blind him. Pure, unhindered fury sat on her face when the flash of it subsided, throwing Cosette's magic off course. She drew from the deep well they'd spooled together—that Draco had so meticulously entwined with his own—and the magic that swept the courtyard was vastly more than he had ever seen concentrated at once.

Hermione's hatred for Cosette in that moment was so visceral he could taste it in the air, and caught in her surprise, Cosette only turned towards Hermione, her eyes wide.

The two of them parried bolts of magic, Cosette's possession of the affiliation dull and fledgling in comparison. Draco tore his attention back to the battle at hand as the remaining Avance guards that were still loyal broke into the fray.

Chaos flew all around him.

Draco could scarcely see beyond Hermione's flashes of magic, unwilling to hit her as she and Cosette danced around one another, magic flying faster than he could keep up with.

Dagomir watched on, as helpless as Draco, even as Hermione's battered Cosette with relentless lashes of unchained magic, swatting the woman's feeble efforts aside like flies as she advanced still further.

Hermione's eyes shone with an unearthly power and rage; pride swelled within Draco as he caught a breath at the sight of her, magic flaring across her midnight battle armour and reflecting off the metal of her crown. A true warrior queen.

Cosette faltered a step back. A blur chased through Draco's periphery. He watched, stunned, as Hugo leapt into the fray with a great, pained cry.

"_Hugo_!" Draco roared, fear rippling through him as the man wove through the flares of deadly magic. Draco jumped back into the fight all around him, throwing the affiliation at any Avance guards who remained on their feet, stilling their hearts and stealing their breaths with an eclipse of magic.

Until everything halted.

All Draco knew was the steady, hollow beat of his heart as Hermione's hands dropped. Magic fell from her fingertips as she released a heavy breath.

And Hugo, devastation and anguish wrought in his face.

His great-grandfather's sword buried in Cosette's rib cage.

Cosette's eyes bulged in shock, her mouth hanging open as her blood poured out across Hugo's hands. He twisted the sword within her before wrenching it free with a slash that echoed across the ruined walls of the courtyard.

Hugo stared her down as the life faded from her eyes, blood pooling on the stones, before she sank to the ground in a graceless heap. Her head dropped with a thunk.

Shoulders heaving, Hugo held the sword within quaking hands, blood splattered across the dark fabric of his armour. Draco gaped at him, brow furrowed, before the man turned to meet his stare.

Chest tight, Draco choked out a quiet, "Shit, Hugo."

A sudden stillness descended over the courtyard.

The Avance guards who had leapt into the fight lay fallen around them, and Draco's eyes blurred at the sight of so many prone forms in Nocturnus gear as well. Some were only injured, and with the healing powers of the affiliation, he and Hermione worked in silence to fix up their wounded.

The quiet work of it helped to steady his heart, adrenaline sinking away at last and leaving him exhausted in the wake of it.

Hugo still stood over Cosette's motionless form several minutes later, the sword clenched tight, but his eyes were fixed instead on his father. His sword clattered to the ground in front of him.

Dagomir conferred quietly with Glenneth and the guards as scores of Nocturnus swept back out from fighting within the castle some time later, into the fields to assess the fallen and check for more wounded.

Draco felt only disbelief.

His eyes darted between the forms of Cosette and Elias, defeated on the cobblestone.

Turning from the battleground before him, he ventured back through the walls and onto the grounds with Hermione, healing magic warming his palms as he sought the Nocturnus fighters who had been injured in battle.

Disbelief—and relief. It swept up through him into his heart, into the depth of his magic.

The occurrences of the day settled within him. They had sustained losses—more than he was willing to address at the moment.

But they had won. A vibrant sun shone high above.

At last, Draco let out a breath.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I don't think I've ever been so nervous to post a chapter. I hope you liked it. Only two more and the epilogue remain. Thanks for reading everyone; it means more to me than I can even put into words.

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and ravenslight, respectively.


	55. Chapter 55

The courtyard of the Nocturnus Castle would forever bear the scars of battle. The grounds beyond the high stone walls were darkened with blood and the spilled magic of those who had fallen in siege of the castle.

Hermione could still feel the anguish in her soul, heavy as it had been in the aftermath of battle a week prior.

Even with an advantage in numbers, they had lost too many. And in the end, she had mourned the fighters from Avance as well, who had been drawn into an ancient feud they hadn't truly understood.

The truth of it had all come out in the days that followed Avance's collapse from those who had defected during the battle. The way Cosette's bloodline—high within the ranks of Alba—had been cursed centuries before by a spiteful Lunae Ortus. That her own magical core had begun to dwindle into nothing at all.

And her desire for the lunar affiliation had driven everything into motion.

That Elias Bergen's wrongful belief in his claim for the throne had planted the seed of darkness and betrayal in his heart, pushing him to spurn his own Order and his sworn oaths.

The Order had been pawns in the whole thing.

But Hermione couldn't regret where she had ended up, despite all the hardships that had stood along their path.

She dwelled within the rolling hills beyond the castle walls, her memories a somber ally as she paid silent tribute to the scores of Nocturnus who had given their lives for the cause they believed in.

As she gazed upon the trampled grasses, Hermione wondered how many such battles had been fought on these grounds over the centuries since the Nocturnus Order had formed. Whether any Lunaes of the past had seen their power usurped from within.

And whether they'd been victorious in reclaiming it.

Her weariness had been visceral since returning to Italy. Despite the picturesque grounds and the vast, unending beauty of the castle, she couldn't help but feel the loss of all those who had fought in the name of the Order.

A chill breeze gusted past, the air still cool with the moisture of the early morning.

The council and many of their friends had remained in Italy following the battle, but the bulk of the Order, having been trapped within the castle at Cosette's command for months, had returned home at last.

A tentative peace had begun to settle within those that remained.

But still Hermione found herself watching her back at every turn, a consequence of living with uncertainty as her constant companion for so long. She remembered the feeling well from having been on the run during the last wizarding war.

And she knew in time the feeling would begin to taper off, leaving her to piece together a new life.

At last, she didn't need to live in fear and doubt, forcing a brave face even when she didn't know how they would carry on. Whether anything would ultimately work out in the end.

It was over now and she could finally make plans for her life.

Plans that didn't involve espionage and battlefields, life and death situations, or using her magic to take the lives of others.

Her soul was weary, and Hermione longed for rest.

A chance to plan a life with her husband and the family they would one day raise.

As if the thought had reached him—and maybe it had—Draco's voice flickered through the mental bond between them, caressing her magic. _I made you breakfast_.

Burnt toast, no doubt. A soft smile curled her lips. _I'll be there soon_.

* * *

In the days that followed the final battle, they'd been led by chaos before everything began to fall into some semblance of order again.

Dagomir and the guards had painstakingly dealt with every member of Avance who had sought to surrender in exchange for their lives, making each of them vow they would never seek to avenge their fallen leader.

Between the first battle—wherein the members of the Order hadn't been able to properly mourn those they had lost—and the second, losses had been sobering, and innumerable funerals had taken place following the last battle.

The council had decided to pay their respects for every family, at least one of them attending each funeral. Hermione and Draco had been all over Europe, sometimes to several services in a day, and each night she returned to the castle in Italy, emotionally exhausted and spent of her tears.

That afternoon, they would recognise those they had lost in a tribute of their own.

Hugo had poured himself and his magic into the creation of a memorial, devoid of the mischievous grin or cheeky quips she had come to know from him as he worked with solitude and patience.

Hermione knew it was his way of coming to terms with his father's death and the betrayal that had torn his family apart. Even Madeline—who had been injured during the siege and stayed at the castle to recover—had given him space.

Only Cynthia had sought to approach him, and when Hermione had glimpsed the two of them sitting on the ground with their arms around one another, tears had begun streaming down her cheeks before she could quickly avert her eyes.

Presently, Draco found her in the grandest sitting room in the castle, perched on the edge of the sofa and out of sorts. He tugged one of her curls, gazing out towards the grounds where Hugo worked alone to lay the finishing touches on the memorial.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

It was such a simple question—one they'd taken to asking one another every so often—but the response often evaded Hermione.

Thinning her lips, she nodded. Felt Draco's magic curl around hers with love and support, bolstering her waning spirit.

As always, she said softly, "We will be."

* * *

That afternoon, those who had remained at the castle ventured onto the grounds. The sky above was murky with grey clouds, a breeze buffeting Hermione's hair into her face and snagging it on the intricate whirls of her crown.

She gnawed her bottom lip, sympathy welling within her as her eyes landed on Sewell Winnam; the young woman looked both uncertain and overwhelmed with her grief as she stood alone.

In the aftermath of the second battle, once the rest of the Order had been recovered, they'd learned Oro hadn't made it through the first. Sewell, as Oro's only living descendant, would step into her father's role on the council as court scribe.

Hermione offered her best attempt at a smile but suspected the sentiment didn't quite reach her eyes. Even so, Sewell gave a small smile in return.

It wasn't unheard of for women to be on the Nocturnus Council, but it was rare as the council lines usually passed to a male heir. Hermione appreciated the idea of having another woman at the table, though she knew very little about Sewell.

Her eyes drifted towards the lines of the Nocturnus Guard. Many of the guards had been injured during the fight, but all had attended, some in varying states of recovery.

Hermione felt the many holes in their ranks, each one a knife to her heart.

Lennart—the guard whose leg Draco had healed upon learning the affiliation possessed healing magic. Mikhael, who had been the most soft-spoken but wanted to do well by his family. Luca—who had been known for his easy grin and his notorious sweet tooth. Melancholy sat like a hard stone in her stomach as she thought of those they had lost.

The guards they'd come to respect and to know as friends during their time spent together at the villa in Spain.

And Hermione's eyes stung as they landed on the empty space beside Ben, where Vlad had always stood with pride. Ben's eyes were red and glassy, but he stood tall.

The chill in her bones went deeper than the cold in the air—a reminder that Autumn was upon them—and into the part of her that didn't remember how to mourn so many at once.

She had been forced to do so once before.

Her thoughts hadn't projected into the bonds, but Draco wound his arm around her, drawing her into his side, and Hermione allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she sought comfort in his embrace. At her other side stood Harry and Daphne, the latter grazing an idle hand along her still flat midriff.

It had been one of the only bright spots in the past week, when Harry had explained why Daphne had stayed home from the battle. Seeing the watery grin of pride on Harry's face as he told them he would soon be a father had caused Hermione to burst into tears on the spot.

Dagomir stood in solidarity at the centre of the guards, his face the most somber of all.

And across the arcing circle of them, Hugo stood with Cynthia and Madeline, their arms banded around one another.

The ceremony wasn't to be anything elaborate, and without much fanfare, Draco strode forward and unveiled the memorial Hugo had built. Hermione sucked in a breath, tears stinging at her eyes between the wind and the wrought emotion within her.

The memorial was a simple statue made of midnight blue marble in the shape of a crescent moon, and Hugo had carefully traced the names of each person they'd lost in silver script.

To stand on the grounds of the castle forever, as a reminder of the cost of freedom.

Draco slid his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. He spoke quietly but with reverence, and everyone leaned in to listen.

"Today we gather here to recognise and to respect those we lost in battle," he began, thinning his lips as he gazed upon the careful rows of names. "To thank them for their service and their sacrifice. Each of these people went beyond the call of their Order, giving more than we ever could have asked of them." His chest sunk as he blew out a breath. "We thank you; we miss you. Our lives will forever be changed—and enriched—because you lived."

Draco wrapped his fingers around the curve of the statue, looking again at the names. His voice little more than a whisper, he said, "Nocturnus guide you."

As he slipped back into the circle beside Hermione, blurry through the tears in her eyes, she wrapped an arm around his back.

Dagomir spoke next, offering respect to the guards who had given their lives in battle and promising their fallen spirits everlasting life. Then Hugo, who spoke quietly as if to himself, his eyes red but cheeks dry.

Behind him, Madeline and Cynthia clung to one another, the former heavily favouring one leg.

Many spoke in turn, but others remained silent, their heads bowed and expressions stoic.

At last, Hermione stepped forward, spent of emotion and tears, and found herself without words. She could offer only a whispered, "Thank you," as she gathered her magic into her palms and released it into the statue, the marble cold against her fingers.

Each of the names lit from within, the silver letters sparkling with the moonlight in her veins, and she gazed upon them for several long moments. Many of the names were wholly unfamiliar, and she felt shame and unease well within her.

A little louder she said, "Thank you for your sacrifice. Nocturnus guide you."

She wrapped her arms across her front as she stepped back to her spot between Draco and Harry, her eyes still lingering on the statue.

Despite the withering wind, the crowd lingered on in silence until at last the group began to break up, some venturing onto the grounds and others making their way back inside the castle.

Through her seemingly endless tears, Hermione saw Draco briefly speak with Harry and Daphne, then moments later she was enveloped in Harry's arms.

"I'm so proud of you," he said quietly beside her ear. Hermione only sniffled in return, so fatigued with the strain. _So tired_. He drew back, staring into her eyes. "You don't need to be strong right now. But just know that you're my best friend and I'll always stand with you for the rest of our lives." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Just look at what you've done, Hermione. All the people you've united forever."

A sob broke from her lips, the great tidal wave of emotion within her threatening to crash down and obliterate her. She drew in a deep, rattling breath, nodding as she plastered a hand to her mouth.

For several moments, they stared at one another in silence until at last Hermione huffed out a breath. "Thank you for everything, Harry. For standing with us when there was no hope."

"You were the hope," Harry whispered, his green eyes watery. "_You_ have always been the hope, Hermione. And Malfoy knows that too. You'll look after one another."

Hermione couldn't find the words to respond, so she only pulled Harry into another tight, desperate hug, her tears leaking onto his shoulder. Releasing him, she drew back and mustered a smile. "Thank you, Harry. And I'm so proud of you, too; you're going to be a wonderful father."

His lopsided grin in return sparked something in her heart, and some of the strain began to sink from her at last.

Draco clapped Harry on the shoulder, drew Daphne in for a brief hug, and then wound his arms tightly around Hermione. The rest of the group had dispersed, leaving only the four of them.

Draco looked between them and said, "Thanks for coming, Potter and Potter."

Harry snickered, toeing the ground. "We wouldn't miss it, Malfoy and Malfoy."

A watery laugh escaped from Hermione's lips as she sunk further back into Draco's hold. They watched as Harry and Daphne Portkeyed away, and then they stood for a while longer, gazing at the names etched on the memorial.

Hermione sighed, pressing her eyes shut. "Is this the part where we try to start fresh?"

"No." Draco's lips brushed against the curve of her jaw. "We'll never forget everything that's happened. But it's the part where we begin to move on from here."

"Okay." Her voice sounded small. "I think I can do that."

* * *

Hermione stared into Draco's stormy gaze from across the small table in the kitchen at the villa in Spain.

He pursed his lips. "It's up to you."

"It isn't," she said. "It's up to both of us equally."

Leaning back in his seat, he folded his arms and cocked a brow. "It's a big decision. And we don't need to make it right now."

"But we'll need to make it eventually."

His eyes tightened.

With creeping tendrils of magic into his core, Hermione tried to seek out his thoughts on the matter, but his own magic swatted her away. Amusement sparkled in his stare.

"Fine, then," Hermione said with a huff. "Assume we have a family one day. Where would be the best place to raise them?"

Draco blew out a breath. "We're talking about three different countries here." He gazed around the villa. "I think mother likes it here in Spain the best. We could let her keep it."

"And _you_," Hermione said, infusing her tone with as much flippancy as she could manage, "aren't keen on going back to live in the Manor."

While Malfoy Manor had sustained massive damages, the elves had been working to repair the worst of it. With a little time and energy, they could eventually get it back to the way it had once been, less quite a few cursed objects that had been destroyed in the fires.

His gaze flicked back to hers, his expression sobering. "The Manor holds mixed feelings." He snickered and added, "They all do, if I'm honest. But I know you like the castle."

"I do," she hummed, propping her face up with an elbow to the table. "But is it the best place to raise children?"

"Face it, Hermione." He drummed his fingers on the surface of the table. "Our children aren't exactly going to have a _normal_ childhood. We'll also need to consider where they'll go to school one day. If we want them to go to Hogwarts, we'll need to be in England."

She glanced away, feeling warmth in her cheeks. They hadn't even seriously discussed the thought of children yet; they'd only just come out of a war a few weeks prior.

Quietly she admitted, "I guess I'd built up the idea of living at the castle. It's just… there's so much Nocturnus history there. And it's beautiful. We had so many wonderful memories there at first. But maybe now…" She shook her head, trying to gather her words. "Now it feels tarnished."

"No," Draco returned, his eyes flickering to hers. Raw and vulnerable. "Our memories are still there. And we won't let Avance ruin that for us." Dropping his voice, he added, "I think the castle is my choice."

Hermione sucked in a breath, a smile tugging unbidden at her lips. She whispered, "We'll just have to make new memories to override the bad."

He answered her smile with one of his own. "A lifetime of new memories."

* * *

Draco gazed upon the faces of the council, each one in turn, and felt a tightness in his chest.

Hermione, his beautiful Lunae Amor—his wife, his queen, his partner—without whom he would be nowhere. The one who made him want to do better, to be better. He couldn't wait to begin the next phase of their lives together, and the next after that, until their existence together faded into nothing more than pages of Nocturnus history.

His Chief Adviser Hugo, who had put Draco through the ringer more times than he'd been able to count, especially early on—but who had become his most trusted and reliable friend. The one who he knew bled midnight and silver for his Order.

And if he was honest, seeing Hugo with his sword through Cosette's rib cage had shown him still another side of the Swede.

Dagomir, their loyal trusted Captain of the Guard, who had always been willing to put the Order ahead of himself. The stoic strategist who had kept the rest of them alive probably more times than Draco even knew.

Ever since the battle, the last of Avance falling or scattering on the wind, Draco had seen the strain in Glenneth's bright stare. No longer was the wizened mage cheerful and eager with a smile. Draco wondered whether Avance's hold on him haunted the man more than he had let on or whether he still punished himself for his unwitting role at the first battle, wherein Draco would have died at his hand if not for Hermione.

Still, Glenneth lifted his chin with a nod when Draco met his gaze.

Sewell Winnam had stepped into her father's role with respect and propriety despite her own despair, her eyes sharp and quill quick. Draco hadn't known anything about her prior to the last battle, but she had integrated into a grieving council with graceful ease.

After offering such integral assistance and intelligence towards their cause as Dagomir's second in command, Ben had been granted an official position as a council adviser.

And beside Ben sat Boris, who had been training in the capacity as their mage prior to Glenneth's rescue. Draco hadn't seen fit to remove him; after all, they had already rewritten so many of the ancient rules of the Order.

But at the previous council meeting the week prior, Glenneth had announced his intent to step down as the council's mage. He sought to return home and settle into a life of quiet comforts. The council had held a vote, and Boris had unanimously been offered the position. The former guard had been training with Glenneth ever since in the ancient enchantments he would learn as the Order's high mage.

The council had seen several iterations already in the months since the Order had been reformed, but Draco felt the weight of his responsibilities now more than ever as he sat tall in his seat.

"Thank you all for coming today," he said, his voice echoing through the lofty council chamber and bouncing around the vaulted beams. The Nocturnus Castle truly was the most remarkable place he had ever seen; even the magnificence of the Manor paled in comparison. "One month it's been since everything changed yet again. I cannot thank you all enough for all you've done to help this Order."

He blew out a breath, seeking comfort in Hermione's stare.

"Many months ago, when we all first met, a situation hung over us." He hesitated once more, feeling emotion swell within him. "A situation that quickly turned out to run far deeper than we ever could have realised. We have lost many. Acquaintances, neighbours, family, friends. So much has been sacrificed for us to be here today. And now we face a new age of Nocturnus."

Silence hung around the table, the eyes of the council fixed on him as Draco forced himself to press on.

"It is time to go home—to return to our lives." Thinning his lips, he huffed a breath. "We have done what we needed to accomplish, though it didn't look at all how we anticipated. And maybe one day something else will arise and call Nocturnus together once more. But for now… it's time to move on."

Draco caught Hugo's stare, the man's expression faltering as he nodded.

The rest of the council sat, stony-faced; tears spiked at the corners of Hermione's eyes.

His heart heavy, Draco added, "We'll still meet as a council sometimes."

"Thank Merlin," Hugo huffed; a quiet titter went up around the table. "Monthly or something."

At the general murmur of assent, a smile tugged at Draco's lips. Hermione's hand slipped into his beneath the table and he gave it a squeeze.

"Monthly," he conceded. "That sounds fine." Fixing his stare on Hugo, he added, "And of course you all have your coins and Portkeys. Consider this castle open to each of you always."

A sparkle slid back into Hugo's eyes.

Dagomir spoke for the first time, his voice gruff and eyes glossy. "So we face a fresh beginning for now; Nocturnus always in spirit."

Draco's own throat felt thick with emotion as he forced a swallow.

But Hermione stepped in with a quiet, "Thank you to each of you. You have no idea what your support has meant to us."

A quiet moment followed as the sentiment hung between each of them, and the depth of Draco's gratitude threatened to overwhelm him. He could only manage a nod.

Seeking the eyes of each person around the table one more, Draco drew in a breath. "This council meeting has come to a close. Thank you for coming."

Hermione remained at his side when he rose, her magic stirring within his veins. Belief and hope for the future.

Draco watched as the council trickled out one by one, until at last they were alone. The sudden silence was deafening.

But the air felt just a little different.

* * *

**Author's Note:** We're getting so close to the end. Thanks for reading, friends. xoxo

Alpha hugs to Kyonomiko, and beta love to ravenslight.


	56. Chapter 56

Hermione giggled into the swirling liquid in her glass, a sweet blue concoction made of some sort of magical Swedish liqueur. At her side, Draco chuckled, shaking his head as he blurred a little in her vision.

She had never _asked_ for a birthday party—and most certainly not in the back half of October. But her birthday had come and gone in the midst of the post-battle haze wherein she had spent weeks in a state of emotional fatigue, her days stringing together into a jumbled mess. Draco had tried to do something for her birthday at the time, but it had ended up being a quiet, somber affair between the two of them.

And earlier that evening, Hermione had emerged into one of the large parlours in the castle to find a group of friends and council waiting in surprise.

While the Nocturnus Guard still kept regular security rotations on the castle and grounds, and they had seen Boris often enough practicing with the warding enchantments on the grounds, the castle had felt empty since the rest of the council had stopped living with them.

Hugo and Madeline had returned to Stockholm—although Hugo still Portkeyed in several times a week—and Cynthia had opted to remain in England with Ben. Likewise, Dagomir visited often, arranging guard patrols, but he had gone home to Belgrade.

He sat across from Hermione now, his eyes alert but a wry smile on his lips.

Hermione hadn't realised until the moment she had seen everyone together again how much she had missed them.

Across the room, Theo and Blaise sat in a studious game of cards with Ben and Boris, their drinks abandoned to the sides of the table.

Harry sat on her other side, an arm slung across Daphne as she tittered into his shoulder.

Hermione's attention was drawn to Hugo as he threw his head back with laughter, and a smile pulled at her lips. Hugo hadn't been the same ever since the battle—since watching Elias' own corrupted magic consume him—and since he had taken Cosette's life.

But she could see a hint of that old mischief in his eyes.

"Dagomir just doesn't want to tell anyone he had a date last week," Hugo was saying when she forced herself to focus back on the conversation.

Dagomir scowled at the group even as Draco's brows lifted high into his fringe. Folding his arms, Dagomir sunk into his seat and huffed, "It doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter," Hermione contradicted, a wide grin stretching her lips as she took another sip of her drink. "Why would you say that?"

Scrubbing at his beard, Dagomir remained silent, though Hermione could have sworn his cheeks flushed pink.

But Draco clicked his tongue, frowning. "Because he knows we will want to meet them. Make sure we approve of whoever he's seeing."

"True," Hugo said, before adding, "so few people are good enough for our Dagomir."

Draco jabbed a finger into the air above the table, a little uncoordinated. "You tell her—or _him_—" Dagomir stared hard at the table "—they need to treat you well, otherwise—" Draco's affiliation magic flared from his fingertips.

Hermione jabbed him in the elbows as Hugo guffawed loudly. Madeline giggled into her drink.

As Dagomir took a moody sip of pumpkin juice, the look he shot Hugo would have made a lesser man wither to dust.

Hermione hummed, shaking her head. "Don't listen to them. We're happy for you." Ducking her chin she asked, "Is it someone we know?"

For a long time, she had thought Dagomir to be older than he actually was because of his stern personality and the way he had always carried so much weight on his shoulders for the Order. But he wasn't that much older than they were.

Dagomir only cocked a brow and remained silent even as his lips twitched. She wasn't particularly surprised, given Dagomir's proclivity for secrecy, but if it was serious _eventually_ he would have to tell them. As a member of the council he would be obligated to inform them of any significant changes.

Even though Hermione knew Dagomir would never allow another person to come between his responsibilities with the Order. It was a formality within the oaths more than anything.

Dagomir merely gave them all one last mockingly disgruntled look, collected his pumpkin juice, and ventured across the room to join the next round of the others' rousing game. He slipped into an empty seat between Theo and Ben, muttering something she couldn't hear from across the room. The others chuckled.

Hugo changed the subject, a mischievous flicker in his stare. "What did the Lunae Ortus get you for your birthday?"

Hermione frowned, shooting Draco a look. "I told him I didn't need anything." She could feel the tendrils of his magic curl around hers and forced her attention back to the conversation at hand. "But he insists we ought to take a trip."

"Okay, technically," Draco interjected, a smirk curling his lips, "it's a long overdue honeymoon. We couldn't very well have left in the middle of everything that was going on."

"He's got a point," Harry quipped.

"The castle will be fine," Draco said, "given Boris has been reinforcing the wards every few days. And Dagomir's agreed to it as long as we check in regularly and keep our coins with us." Dropping his voice, he added, "But we'll be able to give him the slip if we really want to."

"I heard that," Dagomir called from across the room.

Hermione dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, biting back a snicker. Instead, she said, "He won't tell me where we're going, though."

Draco's gaze flickered to hers, his grey eyes sparkling. "Originally I wanted to take you to Italy, remember?" Lifting his hands to indicate the castle around them, he shrugged. "So let's just say we won't be going to Italy, France, or Spain."

An appreciative chuckle carried around the table.

"If you end up in Sweden," Hugo said with a dip of his chin.

"We might," Draco murmured, sipping his drink. "We'll be gone three months."

Hermione only shook her head. She hadn't asked for anything extravagant, but his original suggestion had been six months. While the Malfoy coffers ran deep and enemies no longer hovered on the horizon, she hadn't seen the sense in frivolous travel.

But according to Draco, he'd worked it all out.

And at some point during the year, she had come to trust him. With her life and certainly with their travel plans. So she had surrendered the reins and agreed.

If she was honest, she was looking forward to it. Almost every waking minute since they had wed, they had been surrounded by others. It would be nice to have some quality time between the two of them.

She met his gaze with a smile, finally nudging at his magic in return with a soft, "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

Given the time to properly consider such things, Hermione found it to be remarkable that for the entirety of her engagement and marriage to Draco—relatively short though it had been—their relationship had been fraught with the fears and tensions of war.

It had taken some time for her to begin to let go of some of those previously unending pressures and realise that they _weren't_ fighting for their lives anymore.

They were allowed to simply exist now.

She had come to know Draco Malfoy, Lunae Ortus of the Nocturnus Order, _so well_. She had felt his fears, understood his desires, and stood alongside his doubts.

But during the weeks and months that followed, after so many things had finally been laid to rest, there had been a shift.

And Hermione began to know Draco Malfoy—her husband.

The deepest dreams he sought to voice, now that they had room in their hearts to share such things.

The silver sparkle that shone in his eyes when he let down his walls with a full belly laugh. When he spoke with her, opened up to her about his past, and allowed her into his future.

At night, with him filling her and their magical cores entwined—Hermione knew there was no way to put into words the way he made her feel.

As a child she had possessed so many hopes and dreams for her life—hopes which had been dulled by a youth fraught with the realities of war. And in the years that followed, when Hermione had settled into her job at the Ministry and working part-time at the bookshop, she had begun to believe that would be it for her.

Never could she have imagined everything that was to come.

If someone had told her she would be living in a castle in Italy; in possession of a unique and powerful strain of magic; and deeply, irrevocably in love with her childhood nemesis, she might have laughed in their face.

Furthermore, that the aforementioned nemesis would have spent the last two and a half months spiriting her around the world, treating her as his queen, she would have thought she was dreaming.

It all certainly felt like a dream.

They had gone to America and spent time exploring both the magical and Muggle sides of New York before venturing to the west coast to partake in surf and sunshine.

Then north into Canada where they had spent a week at a ski lodge in the Rockies, the encroaching cold stinging their cheeks as they brutalised their bodies in snowboard lessons during the day and relaxed before the fire at night.

With winter sweeping into the air in earnest, they had taken a Portkey down into South America. Draco had been keen to hike the ancient Incan ruins of Machu Picchu in Peru, and they had enjoyed the culture so much they had lingered, travelling through Brazil and Argentina. After a harrowing expedition deep into the rainforests, they had decided to carry on.

According to Draco, Hugo had supplied them with a set of Portkeys—illegally procured, as usual—that they could use or modify to suit their needs. They only needed to decide on a specific location where they wanted to go next and when and the Portkeys would do the rest.

One day, Draco had mentioned he wanted to see as many places as they could within the three months, and after they hopped from Cape Town into Morocco within the span of a week, Hermione believed him.

They had made special stops in both Stockholm and Belgrade, surprising Hugo and Dagomir with their impromptu presence.

And while the trip had been a whirlwind in itself, they had taken their time with the things they most wanted to experience, and Hermione hadn't felt rushed. Besides that, she'd had so much fun with Draco at her side that as their time together abroad dwindled down to the final weeks, she found herself wishing they _had_ agreed to a longer trip.

Although for as much as she had enjoyed their time exploring, Hermione began to feel a twinge of longing to return home. They had only stayed in the castle for a month after the chaos of the war settled down, and she was ready for a rest.

But Draco had one Portkey left in the case: a small tarnished silver spoon that reminded Hermione of the collection her mother had kept when she had been young. The memory stung at the back of her mind, where she had carefully stowed everything that reminded her of the parents she had lost over the years since the war against Voldemort.

As Draco drew the spoon from the case, he fixed her with a stare, his grey eyes searing and honest.

"I had one more place I thought we might go before we return home," he said quietly, taking her hand into his. His eyes flashed as he activated the Portkey, the blue light casting a pale glow across his face. "Do you trust me?"

Hermione merely snickered, rolling her eyes. "If you think I _don't _trust you after everything we've been through—"

He tapped the spoon against her knuckles, and before she could finish speaking, she felt the familiar tug beneath her navel, twisting her into motion.

The first thing she noticed when they landed was heat. The air was warm against her face, having just been in northern Europe in the middle of winter. Her trainers sunk into the sand beneath her feet.

The briny scent of the ocean hung in the air, teasing her senses, and distantly Hermione could hear the crashing of waves. Behind her sat a picturesque ocean cottage, all airy windows and fresh, bright colours.

Something like recognition flickered through the back of her mind as she gazed towards the distant ocean, and she swallowed a sudden lump in her throat as she whispered, "Where are we?"

The teasing warmth had sunk from Draco's face as he said, "We're in Queensland, Australia. The Gold Coast." With an effort at a smile, he added, "Potter told me where."

"Brisbane," Hermione said, thinning her lips as she drew in a breath. "My parents live in Brisbane."

Her hand still hung within his, limp and unresponsive, and he gave her fingers a squeeze as she met his stare again. "I debated for months whether I ought to bring it up, because before the wedding you said you didn't want to talk about the situation. But then we didn't have a chance with everything and…" As he trailed off, Hermione was struck with the realisation that he was nervous.

She felt his magic mingle with hers, breaking from the pads of his fingers as they grazed the back of her knuckles. Her eyes stung with moisture as she searched for the right words.

"I thought _maybe_," he went on, a knit between his brows, "we might be able to meet with the Healers who had been working on your parents' case. Given the healing power of the affiliation."

A breath caught in Hermione's throat, tears instantly welling in her eyes. Tears of fear, of despair, and of shame. She had kept the selective loss of her parents' memories so carefully compartmentalised for so long, tread such a careful path around them in her own mind, that she hadn't even considered such a thing. Even when she had developed the affiliation within herself.

She had learned years ago, after innumerable trips to this very coast, that getting her hopes up had dire consequences.

But still, a flicker of something akin to hope flared within her.

"Do you think it's possible?" Her voice broke on the words, and she swiped at a tear that broke from her eye.

"I don't know." Draco clenched his jaw, his face stoic. "But…"

"We could try," she whispered.

He only nodded slowly. "If you want to."

The idea that the affiliation could possibly have the power to undo the spell she had cast on her parents' memories so many years ago—the _irreversible_ spell, according to each of the many healers she had spoken to—was overwhelming.

Even at the thought of it, she felt her magic rear to life within her, pulsing in her chest with her adrenaline.

Tears flowed from her eyes of their own accord, and she bit down hard on her lip. "Draco… I don't know what to say—"

"You don't have to say anything," he said quietly. "I don't know if this will work."

They had no way of knowing until they tried, and while Hermione wasn't sure how she could handle another letdown if it _didn't_ work, she would never be able to let alone the idea of it now.

Worrying her lower lip, she nodded. Her voice was hoarse as she whispered, "We need to try."

And for all she knew, her parents would never forgive her for the way she had violated their minds so many years ago. Maybe they would wish she had left them in their peaceful existence as Wendell and Monica Wilkins.

Hermione didn't know what she would do if her parents hated her for what she had done; the thought had kept her from sleep for years.

But if she didn't try this one last attempt…

Draco glanced at his watch, uncertainty in his gaze as he met her eyes again. "I made an appointment at the Brisbane Medi-Hospital, in case you wanted to meet with the Healers on your parents' case."

"I do," she whispered, her eyes blurring.

He nodded. "Okay." Extending a hand, he took hers gently between his, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. His eyes flickered back up to hers. "I love you."

_No matter how this goes_.

The sentiment hung between them; Draco would always be at her side, regardless of what happened. Not for the first time—especially in the past two and a half months—she wondered what she had done to deserve such a loving partner in life.

Fate had certainly led her down an interesting path.

Through her tears she forced a smile. "I love you more."

Then she felt the tug of Apparition.

* * *

The Healers had been a little dumbfounded by the situation, but Draco could tell they were making their best effort to understand. The Nocturnus Order had never spread into Australia, even at the height of its influence, and Draco wasn't surprised they didn't know much about the situation, other than what they had evidently seen in global wizarding news.

Having been largely isolated, both in Spain and in Italy since the battle, Draco hadn't realised the scope of everything that had happened beyond the Order.

By the sounds of it, the details were murky, but the Healers understood who they were. And while they looked a little skeptical at the idea that the pair of them were in possession of rare healing magic powered by the moon, they had been willing to support the attempt.

Not that Draco would have allowed Healers to stop them from trying if it was what Hermione wished.

She had been largely quiet through the initial meeting, allowing Draco to take the reins on the conversation, and he wondered at the chaos that was undoubtedly passing through her mind.

Her hand clutched his like a vise as they waited for the healers to arrange a meeting with Hermione's parents. They hadn't gone into the details of it beyond that they had ways of keeping in touch with Muggles who had been afflicted by spell damage.

_Spell damage_. The colour had drained from Hermione's face at the words.

Draco had clenched his jaw.

He had never wanted to broach the subject too directly given Hermione's early reticence to discuss her parents, and then such things had fallen to the wayside as they ended up neck deep in conflict with Avance.

But now… they finally had the chance to consider such things.

Draco had been able to feel the initial wave of shame sweep through her when he suggested they might try using the affiliation to restore her parents' memories of her, as if she hadn't thought of it. And he knew she would shoulder the blame—he had been so cautious in proceeding with the idea—but at Potter's reassurance, he had decided to save Australia for the last leg of their trip.

Just in case.

After what felt like hours, a healer finally emerged. "Your parents have arrived via the Muggle entrance, Miss Granger," he said.

"Missus Malfoy," she corrected absently, and Draco felt a flare of pride swell in his chest. Belatedly, she pressed her lips into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you, Healer Bridges."

Her knuckles were white as she squeezed his hand still harder before releasing him.

Offering her the lead, Draco followed her into the examination room the healers had provided. Realising it was his first meeting with her parents—whether they understood the situation or not—he straightened his shoulders.

Instantly he recognised hints of Hermione in each of them. Her chocolate eyes and delicate features were her mother's, while the wild curls came from her father.

Vague recognition flitted across her parents' faces, as if they had seen her before but didn't understand the connection. Draco's heart stuttered in his chest at the soft, devastated smile that curled Hermione's lips.

"Hello, Mister and Missus Wilkins," she said with a nod. Hermione curled into herself, looking smaller than he had ever seen her, imposing as she often was. She gestured towards him, her shoulders tense as she added, "I'd like to introduce you to my husband, Draco Malfoy."

"Pleasure," Draco said, reaching forward to shake each of their hands.

Each of the Grangers—Wilkins—looked at him as if mildly bemused. Draco wondered what her cover had been if she had met them before in this capacity.

"We just need to do some basic tests today," Hermione went on, a breath hitching as she glanced his way, seeking comfort in his eyes. Instantly, Draco curled his magic around hers, bolstering her courage. She drew in a long breath, blowing it out before she spoke again. "Nothing to worry about."

The Wilkins' frowned, as if they couldn't quite comprehend why they had been summoned to the hospital. Draco wondered if they had been Confunded in some way.

But within moments, he could feel her spooling her magic, and he threaded his own into the cracks between them, offering his magic to her to do with it as she willed.

Silent tears broke from her eyes, chasing unhindered down her cheeks as she gathered the glowing white magic of the affiliation into her palms. The Wilkins leapt back in shock and horror, freezing in surprise halfway to the door.

But Hermione only whispered, "I'm so sorry," before she released thin, shimmering coils of magic from her hands. They danced through the air, brightening the room, and Draco felt the magic in his own soul, could feel the purity of her intent, and his chest tightened.

He watched as the affiliation, still streaming from her fingertips, swirled into her parents, looking for all the world like trapped memories breaking free and returning home.

Draco watched the beauty of it, a breath caught in his chest. Time hung as if suspended as her magic swept through the room.

The Grangers' stares glazed over, their eyes slipping shut, and at last Hermione dropped her hands with a choked sob before she shifted back towards him. Draco tugged her hand into his, feeling the warmth of the magic still emanating from her palm, and he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

After a terribly drawn out hesitation, her mother's eyes fluttered open, followed by Mister Granger's.

A sharp gasp tore free of Missus Granger's lips. "Hermione?"

Hermione hesitated at Draco's side, her tears still streaming free as she bit down hard on her bottom lip with a voracious nod. She blew out a breath. "Mum. Dad."

The Grangers exchanged an incredulous look, confusion knitting their brows, before they turned back to their daughter, who still stood at Draco's side, her shoulders tight as if she didn't know what to do.

And indeed, her parents looked uncertain, like they didn't quite know what to make of the situation either.

"I have to explain a few things," Hermione said, her voice small. Draco gave her hand another tight squeeze. "But I'm so happy to see you again."

Before Draco could comprehend anything else, Hermione was wrenched from his side and into her mother's arms, both women crying.

Emotion swelled within his chest, and Draco felt a stinging at his own eyes as he pressed his lips into a thin line, meeting her father's stare. He gave a tight nod.

Then Missus Granger pulled back, holding Hermione at arm's length as she said, "You're damn right you need to explain this."

But there was no malice in her words, and Draco caught the twitch of Mister Granger's lips.

Quietly, Draco said, "I'll give you three some time alone."

Her father mouthed a mild '_thank you_' before stepping in and pulling his daughter into his arms. Draco slipped from the room and closed the door behind him, a lightness within his soul he hadn't felt in a long time.

* * *

On the grounds of the hospital, Hermione followed her magic to find Draco waiting for her, perched on a hill as the sun began to set, casting the world in shades of orange and gold.

It felt fitting for the day they'd had.

She still couldn't believe the magic had worked, elation mingling with her disbelief and swelling in her chest into a perfect storm. Her parents remembered her.

And after eight years apart, they understandably carried certain reservations. It would take time to rebuild their trust in her. But Hermione was willing to do so; she had always expected that would be the case. Many years ago, she had attempted to put herself in her parents' shoes and had come to terms with the fact that they would have every reason to be upset with her.

That was before she had watched the last grains of hope slip like sand from her fingers.

As she had painstakingly explained the entire situation that had ultimately led to her extracting her parents' memories of her, watching their expressions flicker through a range of emotion, she had done her best to keep her expectations low.

But then they had spent the rest of the afternoon talking, laughing, and crying together.

And while Hermione had wanted them to properly meet Draco, she respected that he had left her alone with them. To reconnect—and to begin the vital process of healing.

Now, emotionally spent and with a joyful heart, she found him, arms propped on bent knees as he gazed out upon a beautiful Australian sunset.

Hermione only tucked herself into his side, resting her face on his shoulder.

"How can I ever thank you for this?" she asked, the words barely a whisper.

"You don't need to thank me for anything," he said, a gentle reverence in his tone as he slung an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. "You had the magic to help them yourself. I only planted the seed. How are they?"

"They will need some time to get past this," she breathed. "But I always knew that would be the case." She caught his gaze, smiling. "They look forward to meeting you—I told them we would be staying here for a while so…"

"So we will have plenty of time," Draco said. "I look forward to getting to know them too."

"Thank you for giving me time with them today."

He only snickered, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't about to take this from the three of you. I'll have plenty of time to get to know them now." He tugged at a curl that had broken free of her bun, teasing his fingers along her scalp, and Hermione's eyes fluttered shut at the feel of it.

When Draco spoke again, his voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear him.

"You might want to wait a bit on the next surprise, though." The words were wry, almost flippant, but Hermione's eyes snapped open to find him watching her.

A breath caught in her throat. "What do you mean?"

Draco dragged a hand down her spine, his fingertips gentle as he gazed back towards the sunset, painting the sky into a beautiful array of colour and light. He planted a kiss into her hair.

"I wasn't sure at first," he said softly, "when your magical signature started to shift. I couldn't tell why—and then it clicked. And we haven't exactly been the _most_ careful recently."

Hermione's heart plummeted into her stomach, seeking out the warmth of his stare as adrenaline flared to life within her.

"I only just found out," she whispered, "and I didn't know how to tell you yet."

She hadn't even considered the fact that he might be able to sense it in the connection between their magical signatures—the seed of life that had just begun to grow within her.

Draco waved her off, and she caught the depth of emotion in his stare, a soft smile curling his lips. "We're going to have a baby."

Hermione nodded, tears spiking at the corners of her eyes. "I know we wanted to wait a little longer after everything—"

But he only drew her closer. "I'm so happy."

"You aren't scared?" she asked, voicing the niggling doubts that had crept in over the last days since she had herself discovered the truth.

"I'm terrified." He chuckled, and Hermione could see the moisture in his eyes too. "I don't exactly have the greatest frame of reference for how a father should act. All I know is that I've learned what _not_ to do."

A watery laugh slipped from her lips. "You're going to be an amazing father."

"I have every faith that you are going to be the most phenomenal mother, Hermione." His eyes shone with raw vulnerability. "And no matter what, we have one another. That baby is going to be so loved."

Anticipation built within her, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "Imagine the council."

Draco snickered. "They'll spoil him rotten." When her lips twitched he added, "Or her."

Her stare landed on the sky, stunning colour streaking through a lone wisp of cloud. "If it's a boy, he will be the Lunae Ortus one day. When we decide he's ready." Drawing in a breath, she added, "And he'll be raised in Nocturnus tradition."

"Yeah." She could see the appreciation in his face, and he offered another soft smile as he trailed his fingertips along her abdomen. "And if it's a girl… she'll raze the world like her mother."

The smile drifted from her lips as she met his stare again, the flecks of silver in his eyes sparkling gold with the brilliant light dancing around them.

"Are we ready for this?" she asked, just barely a breath.

Draco dragged her in for a kiss, tasting her lips briefly before drawing back. He laid his temple against hers for a moment as he released a long breath.

"We're ready for anything life throws at us now." A smile curled his lips, the life that stretched on before them dancing in his gaze. "And this is just the next adventure."

Tears in her eyes and peace in her soul, she believed him.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm feeling a little sniffly, friends. I can't believe we're at this point. I'll post the epilogue in a couple days and otherwise Nocturnus is done. I can't express how much all of your support has meant in pushing through with this story.

Chapter 56 is a day early for two reasons - NaNoWriMo begins tomorrow, and I have a new project coming out. But it's a little different, so stay tuned!

Infinite love to Kyonomiko and ravenslight for all their help with this story.


	57. Chapter 57

Ten years.

It felt surreal, when he thought of it. With each step he took, the thoughts—the _memories_—flared through him, bringing back the old doubts and insecurities that had once lingered, so visceral and overwhelming, just beneath the surface of his skin.

Draco gazed out across the grounds of the Nocturnus Castle, a slight breeze ruffling his hair. The clouds above him hung, grey and gloomy, echoing the melancholy embedded in his soul.

_Ten years_ had passed, drawn out yet a blink of an eye.

Every morning without fail, Draco ventured onto the grounds, marking the familiar trek as his feet carried him along the worn path that led to the memorial they had erected after Nocturnus' victory over their ancient enemies. The gorgeous midnight blue marble with its lines of shimmering silver text. Kept immaculate at the loving, respectful hands of the elves.

The names of those they had lost.

And every day, Draco paid his respects. Sometimes with Hermione at his side, and sometimes with their children, but more often alone. He knew each of the names by memory now.

The daily walks were sobering and humbling—a reminder of the many fortunes he had seen in his life. And the hardships.

The weight of his failures sat in his soul, heavier than ever before as he sat on one of the benches that had been erected around the memorial. All within Nocturnus were welcome to visit, to pay tribute.

But today, on such a significant day, he found himself alone.

The wind whistled past, grey clouds shifting overhead as he released a long, shuddering breath.

That afternoon, the castle would be alive with visitors, both in recognition of the cost they had paid that day so long ago and in celebration of the victory they had achieved. Of the freedoms they had secured for the people of Nocturnus.

Draco felt torn in two, as he often did, at the thought.

His magic stirred within him, the support of Hermione's curling into his. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he nudged hers in return, back within the castle. They had grown so familiar with one another, with the gentle push and pull of their magic, and it was the one constant his life still offered.

Would always offer.

Resting his elbows on his knees, Draco allowed his head to drop, the memories chasing through him. He had never been willing to let those who had perished slip from mind. Years ago, Sewell Winnam, the Court Scribe, had penned the history of Nocturnus and Avance, of the fierce battles that had followed. Many guards and council members had contributed, filling in the details of the story.

And every lost soul had been immortalised within.

Draco righted himself, feeling another presence join him, and he blew out a long breath as Scorpius climbed up onto the bench alongside him. Together they sat in silence, only the wind fluttering through the grasses alongside.

Scorpius joined him most often, as Draco had sought to instill such a respect in his son from his early years. He was almost nine and old enough to understand such things. As the heir to the affiliation.

"It's an important day, Scorp," Draco huffed at last, still gazing upon the statue.

"I know." Scorpius straightened his shoulders as he sat up tall. "Today we remember the past and recognise the fallen."

"And?" Draco's lips curled with a smirk.

Scorpius returned the smile, glancing towards his father. "And we celebrate the future yet to come."

"Good," Draco hummed. "Where's your mother?"

Rising to his feet, Scorpius stepped towards the statue and ran his fingers along the carved names, glowing with Hermione's magic. "She's outside with Astra and Hugo."

"Fun," Draco quipped, and Scorpius grinned. As much as Draco loved each of his children, and he knew Scorpius adored his younger siblings, there was something about spending time with just his eldest.

When Astra and Hugo were older, he would be able to instill in them the same lessons as he sought to teach Scorp. Astra was the explorer, Scorpius the diplomat. And Hugo, at just three, still clung to his mother—and often acted as Podski's shadow—as he began to chart his own course in the world.

Draco had never imagined feeling so fulfilled.

They sat in silence for several long minutes, Scorpius hoisting himself back up onto the bench.

At last Scorp asked, his voice small, "Was it hard? Losing so many friends?"

"It was," Draco said, "and it still is. It's why I come out here every day—I still carry those burdens, and I always will. It's one of my responsibilities in leading as the Lunae Ortus; that responsibility for the people of the Nocturnus Order will one day fall to you."

Scorpius shifted, frowning. "It sounds difficult."

"It can be," Draco allowed, locking his gaze on his son. "But if you're a good leader the people will want to stand by your side."

"You're a good leader," Scorpius said, his eyes darting briefly back towards the memorial. "And your friends stood with you?"

"They did." Draco fell silent, following his son's stare. "I wasn't always a good leader—but your mother was a natural. I've learned so much from her."

Scorpius grinned, tucking his hands beneath himself on the bench. "Uncle Harry always says Mum is brilliant."

Draco chuckled, slinging an arm around his son's shoulders. "He isn't wrong."

He looked down upon Scorpius, a smile lingering on his lips. The boy had his colouring, but Hermione's eyes and a gentle wave to his blond hair where Draco's was straight. More so, he always sought to learn as much as he could, and he carried himself with the confidence that would one day take him far.

Draco would do his best to ensure it—in all of his children. He scrubbed a hand through Scorp's hair, mussing his careful hairdo.

"Your hair's a mess." Draco snickered. "We'd better go get cleaned up."

Scorpius only rolled his eyes.

* * *

The wind swept through her curls, leaving moisture stinging at Hermione's eyes. Her silver Nocturnus coronet perched atop her head, carefully plaited into her hair, and she wore her Nocturnus finest.

Though the crowds had dispersed, her gaze lingered on the memorial, the names a vibrant silver even with the dim grey clouds above, threatening rain.

It reminded her of the day ten years ago when they had stood on that very spot and unveiled the statue. Spoken words of mourning and remembrance.

And again today, they had done the same.

Nocturnus had travelled from every corner of the continent to pay their respects, many too young to even remember the conflicts.

Much like her own children, piled together on one of the benches that surrounded the statue. Hugo toddled past in his Nocturnus robes, his ensemble completed by a midnight blue tie with silver stars—a gift for the occasion from his namesake, Hugo Bergen.

The breeze picked up, jerking Hermione from her thoughts as Draco came up alongside her, drifting his palm to her lower back. His lips brushed her cheek, lingering against her skin.

"I'll take the children back if you need a minute," he murmured, drawing back.

"No," Hermione breathed, pressing her lips into a thin smile. "I'll come. It looks like it's going to rain."

The sky above matched the spirits of everyone in attendance, quiet and somber as they shared memories and thoughts of those members of Nocturnus who had fallen during the conflicts with Avance. Her heart always stung with the recollections as she thought of the many lives lost, but today her cheeks remained dry.

Hugo wound his arms around her leg, Astra and Scorpius giggling behind her, and she hefted the toddler into her arms with a big squeeze.

"Cold!" Hugo exclaimed, poking her in the cheek.

"I know," Hermione said, a smile breaking across her face. "We're going inside."

Astra took off towards the castle, catching up with Liam and Olivia Bergen as the first drops of rain fell from the grey sky.

Scorpius chuckled before following after his sister, and Hugo squawked in Hermione's arms, straining to chase after his siblings. Snickering, she set him down, watching as he stumbled a little.

Then Draco swept her into his chest, coiling his arms around her as he breathed in her scent, their magic entwining with one another's. "We're okay," he breathed, seeking assurance as much as assuring.

Hermione sunk back into his hold, her eyes fluttering shut as the feel of the bond between them swept through her, steadying the race to her heart that had persisted since she'd woken up.

She blew out a breath. "We're okay."

* * *

Draco could still remember the day he met the Nocturnus Council. When he had first gazed upon the faces of those who had sworn oaths to serve him with their lives—despite that they had never met him.

He had been scared beyond his wits, instinctively aware that the decisions he'd made had led him to a position where he had thrust himself beyond every comfort he had once cherished. He had been in over his head, and they had all known it.

Hugo, irreverent and immature. Dagomir, gruff and unwavering.

The two who still remained of the original council over ten years ago; the two Draco had come to trust with his life—and had done so many times over. Who had become his closest advisers and friends.

Fear had chased through him, recognising the faith and trust—unmerited though it had been at the time—they had bestowed upon him to lead their Order, long fallen out of favour.

But then Hermione had shown up in the manor; had stood in the throne room, stating her case before him as if she were after a job rather than a husband. How might things have gone if he had dismissed her after all? Draco doubted he would still be alive.

So many things had changed during those months ten years ago.

Ben had integrated seamlessly into the council as a guard adviser. A smile curled Draco's lips, remembering those early days after the battle wherein they had all sought comfort in one another. How he believed they might have all made it through without the deep scars that had been revealed early on.

But life wasn't that easy, and Ben's relationship with Cynthia Bergen had been one of the first casualties of that new reality.

After Glenneth stepped down as the council's high mage, Boris had served faithfully in the role. They had all shared a tearful gathering the year before when Glenneth passed peacefully in his home, surrounded by the council he had loved.

And Sewell had stepped into her father's role as scribe with grace and respect, flourishing ever since.

With Hugo's move into the role of Chief Adviser and the treasurer position having sat open during the period of time when they lived in Spain, the role was at last filled by one Daphne Potter.

Draco's eyes caught on Potter's across the room, and he offered the other man a grin. His friendship with Potter had been one of the positives that came out of so many negatives. Potter often joked that they couldn't have survived a fiery escape from his childhood home glamoured as women without developing a connection.

It didn't hurt that Scorpius and the Potters' eldest son Sirius had become close friends.

As he looked around the room, Draco found the friends and family closest to him—the ones who had been by his side all these years.

His mother sat with Andromeda, the pair of them observing while Teddy's hair shifted a myriad of colours, much to the delight of Astra, Hugo, and the miniature Bergens. Sewell and Daphne talked with Blaise, Theo, and Pansy and their respective partners, while a group of Nocturnus guards, including Ben and Boris, engaged in a game of cards. Draco smiled; some things never changed.

Hugo and Madeline stood along one wall with Dagomir and his husband, a cheerful but introspective man named Phillip who balanced Dagomir's stern nature well. Draco had seen him coax more smiles from Dagomir than he ever might have imagined, and the pair had recently adopted their second child, a cheerful young girl.

As Draco joined the small group Hermione slipped up alongside him, looping an arm around his back. He drew her in tighter, feeling an easy smile drag across his face in the company of some of his favourite people.

After the battle, and after the loss of his father and the death of Cosette, Hugo had carried a darkness within him, and every so often Draco could still see a flicker of it in the man's stare. But he was Draco's closest friend, and they had always understood one another to a certain extent.

Draco knew he carried his own darkness some days.

Hermione had been by his side through some of his lowest days; and he by hers.

As he drew her closer, basking in the comfort her magic provided on such an emotionally charged day, he idly drew their magic together. He hadn't had to use the affiliation against another person in ten years.

He hoped that would never change. Hoped Nocturnus wouldn't face war again—that Scorpius wouldn't one day have to lead their forces into battle. But they would prepare him for the role in the event such a thing was ever demanded of him.

And one day he would Ascend and select his own Lunae Amor to rule at his side.

Drawing a deep breath, Draco released the tension from his shoulders.

For the time they had left, they would make the best of the life they'd been given together.

Hermione's magic teased his own, drawing a smirk to his lips, and her thoughts filtered through the bond between them. _I love you_.

_Love you more_.

He adjusted his hold on her, feeling peace and comfort sink into his soul.

The magic in his veins fell quiet at last.

_fin_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading everyone. I hope you enjoyed the story. The ongoing support for this piece has been truly overwhelming and I can't thank you all enough.

Find me on Tumblr at indreamsink for future projects!

A million squishy hugs to my wonderful team on this story; Kyonomiko, LadyKenz347 (most), and ravenslight. Love you guys.


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